'If he'll wear petticoats, I'll give him my vote.'
'There you go, Tom!'
'I hate masquerades. You're penny trumpets of the women. That tattle comes from the bed-curtains. When a petticoat steps forward I give it my vote, or else I button it up in my pocket.'
This was probably one of the longest speeches he had ever delivered at the Aurora. There was extra Port in it. Jonathan, who from his place of observation noted the length of time it occupied, though he was unable to gather the context, glanced at Mr. Andrew with a sly satisfaction. Mr. Andrew, laughing, signalled for another pint.
'So you've come here for my vote, have you?' said Mr. Tom.
'Why, no; not exactly that,' Mr. Andrew answered, blinking and passing it by.
Jonathan brought the fresh pint, and Tom filled for himself, drank, and said emphatically, and with a confounding voice:
'Your women have been setting you on me, sir!'
Andrew protested that he was entirely mistaken.
'You're the puppet of your women!'