“So much greediness in the country,” Sir Robert retorted, striking his stick upon the stone steps. “So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so many who would like it! There’s all that, if you please; but for excitement, I don’t know”—with a severe look—“what you mean, or what it has to do with us.”
“I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our candidate is retiring.”
“A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other.”
“And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten.”
“I’ll not believe it,” Sir Robert answered positively. “I’ll never believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do you listen to such tales? Why do you listen? By G—d, White, what is the matter with you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When you can make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!”
White coughed. “Dyas, the butcher——”
“What of him?”
“Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer notions.”
“Notions?” the baronet echoed in astonishment.
“He has been listening to someone, and—and thinks he has views on the Bill.”