“The popular idea seems to be,” said Mr Farquharson judicially, “that you would not hesitate to put Canada to some material loss, or at least to postpone her development in various important directions, for the sake of the imperial connection.”
“Wasn’t that,” Lorne asked him, “what, six months ago, you were all prepared to do?”
“Oh, no,” said Bingham, with the air of repudiating for everybody concerned. “Not for a cent. We were willing at one time to work it for what is was worth, but it never was worth that, and if you’d had a little more experience, Murchison, you’d have realized it.”
“That’s right, Lorne,” contributed Horace Williams. “Experience—that’s all you want. You’ve got everything else, and a darned sight more. We’ll get you there, all in good time. But this time—”
“You want me to step down and out,” said Lorne.
“That’s for you to say,” Bingham told him. “We can nominate you again all right, but we’re afraid we can’t get you the convention. Young and Windle have been working like moles for the past ten days—”
“For Carter?” interrupted Lorne: “Carter, of course.”
They nodded. Carter stood the admitted fact.
“I’m sorry it’s Carter,” said Lorne thoughtfully. “However—” And he dropped, staring before him, into silence. The others eyed him from serious, underhung faces. Horace Williams, with an obvious effort, got up and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Brace up, old chap,” he said. “You made a blame good fight for us, and we’ll do the same for you another day.”