"But you'll not be attacking the Church and the institutions of the country—you'll not be going those lengths; you'll keep up the bulwarks, and so on, eh?"
"No, I shan't attack the Church, only the incomes of the bishops, perhaps, to make them eke out the incomes of the poor clergy."
"Well, well, I have no objection to that. Nobody likes our bishop: he's all Greek and greediness; too proud to dine with his own father. You may pepper the bishops a little. But you'll respect the constitution handed down, etc.—and you'll rally round the throne—and the King, God bless him, and the usual toasts, eh?"
"Of course, of course. I am a Radical only in rooting out abuses."
"That's the word I wanted, my lad!" said the vicar, slapping Harold's knee. "That's a spool to wind a speech on. Abuses is the very word; and if anybody shows himself offended, he'll put the cap on for himself."
"I remove the rotten timbers," said Harold, inwardly amused, "and substitute fresh oak, that's all."
"Well done, my boy! By George, you'll be a speaker! But I say, Harold, I hope you've got a little Latin left. This young Debarry is a tremendous fellow at the classics, and walks on stilts to any length. He's one of the new Conservatives. Old Sir Maximus doesn't understand him at all."
"That won't do at the hustings," said Harold. "He'll get knocked off his stilts pretty quickly there."
"Bless me! it's astonishing how well you're up in the affairs of the country, my boy. But rub up a few quotations—'Quod turpe bonis decebat Crispinum'—and that sort of thing—just to show Debarry what you could do if you liked. But you want to ride on?"
"Yes; I have an appointment at Treby. Good-bye."