“If you ask me,” the clerk answered, “I should say it was partly Squire Basset—he talks straight and it takes. And partly the split. When a party splits you can’t expect to keep all. I doubted Dyas from the first. He’s the head. They were all at his house last night and a prime supper he gave them.”
Stubbs groaned. At last, “How much?” he asked.
Farthingale shook his head. “Nix,” he said. “You may be shaking Dyas’s hand and find it’s Hatton’s. If you take my advice, you’ll leave it alone.”
“Well,” the lawyer cried, “of all the d—d ingratitude I ever heard of! The money Dyas has had from me!”
Farthingale’s lips framed the words “only veal,” but no sound came. Devoted as he was to his employer, he was enjoying himself. Election times were meat and drink—especially drink—to him. At such times his normal wage was royally swollen by Election extras, such as: “To addressing one hundred circulars, one guinea. To folding and closing the same, half a guinea. To watering the same, half a guinea. To posting the same, half a guinea.” A whole year’s score, chalked up behind the door at the Portcullis, vanished as by magic at this season.
And then he loved the importance of it, and the secrecy, and the confidence that was placed in him and might safely be placed. The shabby clerk who had greased many a palm was himself above bribes.
But Stubbs was aghast. Scarcely could he keep panic at bay. He had staked his reputation for sagacity on the result. He had made himself answerable for success, to his lordship, to the candidate, to the party. Not once, but twice, he had declared in secret council that defeat was impossible—impossible! Had he not done so, the contest, which his own side had invited, might have been avoided.
And then, too, his heart was in the matter. He honestly believed that these poor creatures, these weaklings whose defection might cost so much, were voting for the ruin of their children, for the impoverishment of the town. They would live to see the land pass into the hands of men who would live on it, not by it. They would live to see the farmers bankrupt, the country undersold, the town a desert!
The lawyer had counted on a safe majority of twenty-two on a register of a hundred and ninety voters. And twenty-two had seemed a buckler, sufficient against all the shafts and all the spite of fortune. But a majority of four—for that was all that remained if these nine went over—a majority of four was a thing to pale the cheek. Perspiration stood on his brow as he thought of it. His hand shook as he shuffled the papers on his desk, looking for he knew not what. For a moment he could not face even Farthingale, he could not command his eye or his voice.
At last, “Who could get at Dyas?” he muttered.