“See here, gentlemen,” called out the landlord; “the meaning of Mr. Harris’s song, so far as I understand its hallusions, is this: he supposes himself to be old——”
“No, I don’t,” growled Mr. Harris.
“Quite the contrary, I think,” snarled a little grocer near the chairman. “I reckon there’s more swaddling-clothes nor expirience in them sentiments, or I’m gone deaf since I sat down.”
“The meaning of my song is just what it says,” retorted Mr. Harris. “I’m not ashamed of being a reformer. Better men than I or any other gentleman in this room, begging nobody’s pardon, have been reformers. Thank God, my politics are not of a kind to call up my blushes when I own them.”
As the Tories in the company judged that something offensive was meant by Mr. Harris, several persons spoke at once, and a clamour ensued which threatened to establish the meeting on any other basis than that of harmony. Indeed, one man, who was nearly intoxicated, went so far as to get upon his chair and exclaim, while he brandished his fist, that if he had it in his power, he would hang every Whig in the country. And there is no telling what further extravagances of language and gesture he might have indulged in, but for the prompt interference of a neighbour, who, catching hold of his coat-tail, pulled him under the table.
However, by dint of shouting pacific language at the top of his voice, the chairman succeeded at last in restoring tranquillity. More grog was brought in, snuff-boxes were handed about, hands were shaken across the table, and loud cheers greeted the sentiment delivered by a gentleman who appeared to be vice-chairman: “That ’armony of feeling was the music of humanity.” Mr. Harris apologised for having sung anything distasteful to the company, who he hoped were all his very good friends; and amid the clanking of spoons in glasses, and polite calls of “After you” for lighted spills, the conversation streamed into milder channels, and everybody did his best to look harmonious.
Though Holdsworth was a good deal amused by this scene, and by the manners and dress of the people around him, he hardly felt himself equal to enduring very much more of this social harmony, and sat twisting his glass on the table, watching the faces of the company, and waiting for another “row” to make his escape without attracting notice.
He was presently addressed by a man sitting on his left—a middle-aged individual, with a thin, smooth-shaven face and a keen eye, and very high shirt-collars.
“A stranger, I make bold to think, sir?”