"I'm sure you know best, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Mr. Clutterbuck, though he was not yet quite happy.
For answer Mr. Fitzgerald pulled out of his pocket an evening paper, in which was the account of a police charge in Mickleton itself, which had broken up a monster meeting in favour of the condemned men.
Mr. Clutterbuck read the account carefully, and interlarded his reading with repeated exclamations of wonder addressed apparently to the reporter of the scene.
He was next turning to read the opinions of the paper itself upon the transaction, and would in a moment have discovered its disapproval of his constituency's violence, when Fitzgerald asked for the sheet to be given back to him, and Mr. Clutterbuck at once complied. His mind was clear. The thing was in capitals, and would evidently be the point of the election. He must get it up.
Mr. Clutterbuck was right, and Charlie Fitzgerald had judged wisely.
The first meeting of the campaign was to be held in quite a little hall belonging to the local ethical society. No interest had yet been taken in the election, the greater part of the constituency had perhaps but just heard of it—yet the whole evening turned upon Fishmonger and The Other.
Mr. Clutterbuck's fervid declaration was not enough: one man after another at the back of the hall must take the opportunity, while congratulating the candidate upon his attitude, to make a considerable harangue upon the awful pass to which English freedom had come. Leaflets, printed by the Relief Committee, were in the hands of more than half the audience; and what was more interesting was to see how, the moment the meeting was over, those who had asked questions distributed themselves, as though according to orders, into the various quarters of the borough, visiting the public houses and spreading the news of their candidate's declarations.