“You pay attention to a stupid Tory squib?”
“Where there’s smoke there’s fire, sir.”
Beauchamp glanced at his note-book for the name of this man, who was a ragman and dustman.
“My private character has nothing whatever to do with my politics,” he said, and had barely said it when he remembered having spoken somewhat differently, upon the abstract consideration of the case, to Mr. Tomlinson.
“You’re quite welcome to examine my character for yourself, only I don’t consent to be catechized. Understand that.”
“You quite understand that, Mr. Tripehallow,” said Oggler, bolder in taking up the strange name than Beauchamp had been.
“I understand that. But you understand, there’s never been a word against the morals of Mr. Cougham. Here’s the point: Do we mean to be a moral country? Very well, then so let our representatives be, I say. And if I hear nothing against your morals, Mr. Commander, I don’t say you shan’t have my vote. I mean to deliberate. You young nobs capering over our heads—I nail you down to morals. Politics secondary. Adew, as the dying spirit remarked to weeping friends.”
“Au revoir—would have been kinder,” said Palmet.
Mr. Tripehallow smiled roguishly, to betoken comprehension.
Beauchamp asked Mr. Oggler whether that fellow was to be taken for a humourist or a five-pound-note man.