Whereupon the good sportsmen in question invariably roared themselves hoarse.
And then the Candidate would proceed: Gentlemen, I am not much use at a speech. But I’ll just say this. I hope we shall beat the Villa on Saturday. (Uproar.) It won’t be for want of trying, anyhow. (Uproar.) And if we do manage to beat ’em, and I think we shall—(cries of “Good lad!”)—I hope you will be kind enough to forgive my oratory (cries of “Rather!” and loud cheering).
And now, gentlemen, I am going to ask my wife, who is a far better speaker than I am, to say a few words. There is no need for me to make you known to one another, because she tells me you are all old friends of hers. (Loud cheers, and cries of “Sing us a song, Mary!”)
Mary, looking like a picture-postcard, would then sit down to the piano, which with great foresight had been provided by the Executive Committee, and proceed to sing that famous ballad from Iolanthe about good Queen Bess’s glorious days when the House of Lords did nothing in particular, and did it very well. That was pretty well for a beginning; and the audience would be so delighted with this effort that she was not allowed to get to her speech until she had sung all the old favorites that had made her so famous. And then, when she had sung all her songs, the Chairman, Mr. Alderman Slocock, would interpose and say that it was really not fair to insist on her making a speech, because if they did she might have no voice left the following evening for the great meeting at the Corn Exchange. And this course having been commended by the meeting as a rare example of political foresight, the proceedings terminated with the usual vote of confidence, in which there was not a single dissentient voice.
Aston Villa were beaten handsomely on the following Saturday; and, although the Candidate only managed to kick one goal, he showed so much of his old form that it was clear already that another striking blow had been delivered against the House of Lords. In fact, that tottering institution had not a look in, really. Its meetings were very tame affairs by comparison, even if the standard of speech-making was thought by some people to be higher. But little or no interest was taken in them; while at those of the unfilial young man, who was going to take away his father’s Veto, there wasn’t even standing room an hour before the proceedings began.
Undoubtedly it was going to be a signal triumph for the People’s Cause. The Candidate combined so well with the rest of the Rovers’ forwards that the Wolverhampton Wanderers were beaten on their own ground, and Manchester City were simply annihilated. “Deeds not Words” flamed forth in the Rag colors, a vivid orange, from every hoarding. If the Candidate only kept up his form, said those who knew (and there was a surprising amount of omniscience in Blackhampton just now), the Rovers were bound to win the Cup and Mr. Balsquith would make him Home Secretary immediately.
In spite of all the adulation he received, the Candidate remained very simple and modest about it all. Even after he had scored two goals against Sheffield Wednesday, he never attempted any particular flight of oratory. The Missus could do all that so much better. No doubt she could have done, but South-West Blackhampton was far too wise in its day and generation to give her the chance. Let her attend to the piano. That, in the opinion of South-West Blackhampton, was so much more important.
The dissolution of Parliament occurred in the middle of November. A crowded and glorious fortnight followed. Notts Forest were beaten; a draw was made with Sunderland; and on the very eve of the poll Tottenham Hotspur received a most crushing reverse.
For the second time in its ignoble history, Protection was not only dead but damned.
It was all over bar the shouting, even before the fateful day had dawned. The Flag-Waggers could hardly raise a waggle; the sitting member realized already that he had lost his seat. Blackhampton went solidly for the Rags, and the best inside right in England—never mind Steve Bloomer!—was hoisted with a noble majority to the top of the poll.