“If you want me to wear any kind of glass button on the lapel of my coat, I’ll do it; but I’m not going to sign a total abstinence pledge. I’d rather not be elected.”
Titherington was himself drinking whiskey and water while we talked. He grinned broadly and I felt reassured. We had dined together in my hotel, and Titherington had consumed the greater part of a bottle of champagne, a glass of port, and a liqueur with his coffee. It was after dinner that he demanded whiskey and water. It seemed unlikely that he would ask me even to wear a button.
“As we’re on the subject of temperance,” he said, “you may as well sign a couple of letters. I have them ready for you and I can post them as I go home to-night.” He picked up a despatch box which he had brought with him and kept beside him during dinner. It gave me a shock to see the box opened. It actually overflowed with papers and I felt sure that they all concerned my election. Titherington tossed several bundles of them aside, and came at last upon a small parcel kept together by an elastic band.
“This,” he said, handing me a long typewritten document, “is from the Amalgamated Association of Licensed Publicans. You needn’t read it. It simply asks you to pledge yourself to oppose all legislation calculated to injure the trade. This is your answer.”
He handed me another typewritten document.
“Shall I read it?” I asked.
“You needn’t unless you like. All I require is your signature.”
I have learned caution in the diplomatic service. I read my letter before signing it, although I intended to sign it whatever it might commit me to. I had promised my uncle and given the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association to understand that I would place myself unreservedly in Titherington’s hands.
“I see,” I said, “that I pledge myself——”
“You give the Amalgamated Association to understand that you pledge yourself,” said Titherington.