"I—I—beg your pardon, sir, but I'll give up my seat. I'm most uncommon sorry that ever—curse me if I care about being a mem"——
"Oh! and is that the way you spake of being a mimber o' Parlimint? For shame, for shame, not to feel the glory of your position, sir! There's millions o' gintlemen envying you, just now!—Sir, I see that you're likely to cut a figure in the House."
"But, begging your pardon, sir, if it costs such a precious long figure—why, I've come down some four or five thousand pounds already," quoth Titmouse, twisting his hand into his hair.
"An' what if ye have? What's that to a gintleman o' your consequence in the country? It's, moreover, only once and for all; only stick in now—and you stay in for seven years, and come in for nothing next general election; and now—d'ye hear me, sir? for time presses—retire, and give the seat to a Tory if you will—(what's the name o' the blackguard? Oh, it's young Delamere)—and have your own borough stink under your nose all your days! But can you keep a secret like a gintleman? Judging from your appearance, I should say yes—sir—is it so?" Titmouse placed his hand over his beating heart, and with a great oath solemnly declared that he would be "mum as death;" on which Mr. O'Gibbet lowered his tone to a faint whisper—"You'll distinctly understand I've nothing to do with it personally, but it's impossible, sir—d'ye hear?—to fight the divil except with his own weapons—and there are too many o' the enemies o' the people in the House—a little money, sir—eh? Aisy, aisy—softly say I! Isn't that the way to get along?" added Mr. O'Gibbet, with a rich leer, and poking Titmouse in the ribs.
"'Pon my life that'll do—and—and—what's the figure, sir?"
"Sir, as you're a young mimber, and of Liberal principles," continued Mr. O'Gibbet, dropping his tone still lower, "three thousand pounds"——Titmouse started as if he had been shot. "Mind, that clears you, sir, d'ye understand? Everything! Out and out, no reservation at all at all—divil a bit!"
"'Pon my precious soul, I shall be ruined between you all!" gasped Titmouse, faintly.
"Sir, you're not the man I took you for," replied Mr. O'Gibbet, impatiently and contemptuously. "Don't you see a barleycorn before your nose? You'll be beat after spending three times the money I name, and be liable to ten thousand pounds' penalties besides for bribery"——
"Oh, 'pon my life, sir, as for that," said Titmouse, briskly, but feeling sick at heart, "I've no more to do with it than—my tiger"——
"Bah! you're a babby, I see!" quoth O'Gibbet, testily. "What's the name o' your man o' business?—there's not a minute to lose—it's your greatest friend I mane to be, I assure ye—tut, what's his name?"