“Rubbish, man!” Basset retorted rudely. “Try instead not to be a prig!”
“If I could be of use?”
“You cannot, nor any one else,” Basset answered. “There, say no more. The worst is over. We’ve played our little part and—what’s the odds how we played it?”
“Much when the curtain falls,” the poor clergyman ventured.
“Well, I’ll go and eat something. Hunger is one more grief!” And Basset went out.
He came back ten minutes later, pale but quiet. “Sorry, Colet,” he said. “Very rude, I am afraid! I had bad news, but I am right now. Wasn’t there another letter for me?”
He found the letter and read it listlessly. He tossed it across the table to his guest. “News is plentiful to-day,” he said.
Colet took the letter and read it. It was from a Mr. Hatton, better known to him than to Basset, and the owner of one of the two small factories in Riddsley. It was an invitation to contest the borough in opposition to young Mottisfont.
“If it were a question, respected sir,” Hatton wrote, “of Whigs and Tories we should not approach you. But as the result must depend upon the proportions in which the Tory party splits for and against Sir Robert Peel upon the Corn Laws, we, who are in favor of repeal, recognize the advantage of being represented by a moderate Tory. The adherence to Sir Robert of Sir James Graham in the North and of Lord Lincoln in the Midlands proves that there are landowners who place their country before their rents, and it is in the hope that you, sir, are of the number that we invite you to give us that assistance which your ancient name must afford.
“We are empowered to promise you the support of the Whig party in the borough, conditioned only upon your support of the repeal of the Corn Laws, leaving you free on other points. The Audley influence has been hitherto paramount, but we believe that the time has come to free the borough from the last remnant of the Feudal system.