“For myself,” the Hon. Member continued, “I think that Dilling is the best debater we have had in the Commons since Confederation. He eclipses Cartwright—the best of his day—because when that strict economist fell a victim to his own high temper, he swapped logic for vituperation and lost the ear of the Big Men of the House; he is a match for Denby, who too often talks to Hansard and the Galleries, and too seldom comes to grips with his antagonists on the floor of the Chamber. When, I ask you, gentlemen, has Sir Eric ever influenced a vote on a Division?
“Dilling, on the other hand, captures both parties by his earnestness, and his logic is as irrefragable as his temper is cold. Although I have heard him declare that he despises rhetoric, yet we all know his ability to draw deep from the pure wells of English undefiled. What Horace Walpole said of the youthful Fox as a debater, could be as aptly applied to Dilling . . . . ‘Cicero’s laboured orations are puerile in comparison with this boy’s manly reason’.”
The Hon. Member brought his remarks to a climax by terming Gilbert a traitor, charging Borden with political locomotor ataxia for making no effort to stem the tide of Western opinion towards the Reciprocity movement, and pronounced it treason against the Imperial Crown—thus serving at one and the same time, his ambition and his pocket-book.
The contest was short and sharp. It was universally recognised—even by those who held divergent political opinions and were personally antipathetic—that Dilling was the man for the Cabinet, and Sullivan’s speech left them no alternative but to support him.
Howarth and Turner rattled the handle of the door and demanded admission. Sullivan complied jauntily, giving no sign of the mental struggle in which he had been engaged. Indeed, at the moment of their entrance, he recalled the gilt mirror that hung opposite his desk, the drawer marked “Unfinished Business” and the fact that a little manicurist was disconsolately awaiting him.
With an admirable gesture of preoccupation, he concerned himself with the telephone.
“Is that my dearie?” he questioned into the instrument. “Forgotten? ’Pon my soul, I hadn’t! Simply couldn’t break away . . . eh? Yes, in my office, certainly . . . No, there was no thought of another party. . . . Well, I won’t come if you are going to be cross . . . Promise? All right . . . within five minutes . . .”
The business that was never finished while the three of them lived, was placed upon the desk and uncorked. Sullenly, two men drank, while the third tossed off his portion and then consulted his reflection with meticulous care.
“Sorry,” he said, “but I must rush off. Exacting little devils—these women. Très exigèante, as our French friends say. But help yourselves, boys, and lock the drawer when you leave—that is if you have the grace to leave anything!”