He put the question to Sir John when he had an opportunity.
"Most of them do not climb at all," was the laughing answer. "They are simply pitchforked."
"But surely it is merit that wins in a place like this?"
Sir John laughed again.
"In some cases, no doubt. For instance, you see that short, thick-set man yonder. Well, he's one of the most effective speakers in the House. A few years ago he was a working shoemaker. Then you see that white-headed man yonder, with large forehead and deep, sad-looking eyes. Well, he was a village schoolmaster for thirty years, and now he is acknowledged to be one of the ablest men we have. Then there is Blank, in the corner seat there below the gangway, a most brilliant fellow—a farmer's son, without any early advantages at all. But I don't suppose that either of them will ever get into office, or into what you call an exalted position."
"But why not?"
"Ah, well"—and Sir John shrugged his shoulders—"you see, the ruling classes in this country belong to—well, to the ruling classes."
"But I thought ours was a purely democratic form of government?"
"It is. But the democracy dearly love a lord. They have no faith in their own order. The ruling classes have; so they remain the ruling classes. And who can blame them?"
"Still, when so much is at stake, the best men ought to be at the head of affairs."