The chairman, Parson, standing on the top of two cricket-boxes, with a yellow band round his hat, a yellow rosette on each side of his jacket, and a yellow tie round his neck, said they were met to choose a member, and knew who was their man. (Loud cheers for “Pringle.”) “They didn’t want any Radical cads—(cheers)—and didn’t know what they wanted down here.” (Cheers.) (Bosher: “I don’t want to be a Radical, you know.”)—(Loud cries of “Shut up!” “Turn him out!”) He’d like to know what that young ass Curtis was grinning at? He’d have him turned out if he had any of his cheek. He always suspected Curtis was a Radical. (Curtis: “No, I’m not—I’m for Pony.”) There, he knew he was, because Radicals always told crams! Whereat Parson resumed the level ground. Pringle, who had about as much idea of public speaking as he had of Chinese, was then hoisted up on to the platform amid terrific applause.
He smiled vacantly, and nodded his head, and waved his hand, and occasionally, when he caught sight of some particularly familiar friend, brought it up vertically near his nose.
“Silence! Shut up! Hold your row for Pony!” yelled the chairman.
“Go ahead, Pringle!” cried the candidate’s supporters.
“Speak out!” shouted the crowd.
“All right,” said the unhappy orator, “what have I got to say, though?”
“Oh, anything—fire ahead. Any bosh will do.”
Pringle ruminated a bit, then, impelled to it by the cheers of his audience, he shouted, for lack of anything better to say, all he could remember of his English history lesson of that morning.
“Gentlemen—(cheers)—the first thing Edward III did on ascending the crown—(terrific applause, in which the seniors present joined)—was to behead the two favourite ministers—(prolonged cheers)—of his mother.” (Applause, amidst which Pringle suddenly disappeared from view, and Morrison, the Limpet, mounted the cricket-box. Morrison was a politician after Willoughby’s own heart.)
“I beg to move that Sir George Pony is a fit and proper member for Willoughby,” he screamed. “I think the Radicals ought all to be hung. (Cheers.) They’re worse than the Tories. (Counter-cheers.) One’s about as bad as the other. (United cheers.) We’re all Whigs here. (Applause.) I say down with everybody that isn’t. (Cheers.) If the Radical gets in I don’t mind if the Constitution gets smashed.” (“Nor do we!”) “It will serve them right for allowing the Radicals in.” (Mighty applause.)