Mr. Sullivan felt his way after the manner of a cautious pachyderm,
“This offer,” he said, “is contingent upon a slight change of policy. You would, no doubt, be willing to reverse your attitude on what I may describe as the Wheat and Railway proposals. I need not say,” he continued, smoothly, “that this can be done without any forfeiture of your honesty of purpose, or any reflection upon your acumen as a statesman. Understand that we approach you in the true and best interest of the Canadian people. Once understand that, Mr. Dilling, and I am convinced that you will allow no consideration of personal disadvantage to weigh against your compliance with our wishes.”
Dilling made no reply, but a pungent French phrase that he had read somewhere, welled up to him curiously from the subconscious . . . “Il faut faire tout le rebours de ce qu’il dit.” This gave him pause, the instinct for caution was touched. Was this his cue for the answer he should ultimately give? Did this not warn him to take the very opposite course to that pointed out to him? He must have no illusions as to the right of the matter.
Then temptation gripped him. His soul was in tumult. Principle cried out, “Abhor that which is evil,” while the Will to Power smote him with the reminder that “Opportunity knocks but once at the door of kings”. What could he not accomplish for his beloved country with sovereign power in his hands and his talents in the very flower of their prime! How subtle was the lure.
Must he not recognise in this offer the call of destiny to complete the work of nation-building begun by those fathers of Confederation—Macdonald, and Cartier and Tupper? These were names never to be erased from the scroll of Fame, and why should not he be numbered of their immortal company?
The torch of constructive patriotism lighted by them, had burned low. Let it be his to revive the waning flame. Was this not the vision that had inspired him, that had drawn him from the Last Great West?
That Dilling was powerfully moved was patent to those who had come to tempt him. His frail body quivered with the strain, and Sullivan was too astute a politician to neglect this fleeting advantage. He pressed for an answer before sober second-thought could evoke for Dilling a suspicion of the duplicity underlying the offer.
“What do you think of the idea, Dilling?”
This challenge to a swift decision served to impress him with the danger of the situation, and Dilling’s mind reacted with fine discernment. No matter how he decided, he would not be swayed by impulse.
“What do I think of the idea? I think your proposal is most generous in its implication of my fitness for so tremendous a post. I am overwhelmed by the honour you would do me, deeply grateful to you and your influential friends for this frank appreciation of my efforts in public life. But I fear you estimate them too highly.”