Dr Thorne (35 page)

Whereas, by the light afforded by Mr Moffat's people, they stood in a slightly different ratio to each other, being written thus:–

This naturally heightened the excitement, and gave additional delight to the proceedings. At half-past two it was agreed by both sides that Mr Moffat was ahead; the Moffatites claiming a majority of twelve, and the Scatcherdites allowing a majority of one. But by three o'clock sundry good men and true, belonging to the railway interest, had made their way to the booth in spite of the efforts of a band of roughs from Courcy, and Sir Roger was again leading, by ten or a dozen, according to his own showing.

One little transaction which took place in the earlier part of the day deserves to be recorded. There was in Barchester an honest publican – honest as the world of publicans goes – who not only was possessed of a vote, but possessed also of a son who was a voter. He was one Reddypalm, and in former days, before he had learned to appreciate the full value of an Englishman's franchise, he had been a declared Liberal and an early friend of Roger Scatcherd's. In latter days he had governed his political feelings with more decorum, and had not allowed himself to be carried
away by such foolish fervour as he had evinced in his youth. On this special occasion, however, his line of conduct was so mysterious as for a while to baffle even those who knew him best.

His house was apparently open in Sir Roger's interest. Beer, at any rate, was flowing there as elsewhere; and scarlet ribbons going in – not perhaps, in a state of perfect steadiness – came out more unsteady than before. Still had Mr Reddypalm been deaf to the voice of that charmer, Closerstil, though he had charmed with all his wisdom. Mr Reddypalm had stated, first his unwillingness to vote at all: – he had, he said, given over politics, and was not inclined to trouble his mind again with the subject; then he had spoken of his great devotion to the Duke of Omnium, under whose grandfathers his grandfather had been bred: Mr Nearthewinde had, as he said, been with him, and proved to him beyond a shadow of a doubt that it would show the deepest ingratitude on his part to vote against the duke's candidate.

Mr Closerstil thought he understood all this, and sent more, and still more men to drink beer. He even caused – taking infinite trouble to secure secrecy in the matter – three gallons of British brandy to be ordered and paid for as the best French. But, nevertheless, Mr Reddypalm made no sign to show that he considered that the right thing had been done. On the evening before the election he told one of Mr Closerstil's confidential men, that he had thought a good deal about it, and that he believed he should be constrained by his conscience to vote for Mr Moffat.

We have said that Mr Closerstil was accompanied by a learned friend of his, one Mr Romer, a barrister, who was greatly interested for Sir Roger, and who, being a strong Liberal, was assisting in the canvass with much energy. He, hearing how matters were likely to go with this conscientious publican, and feeling himself peculiarly capable of dealing with such delicate scruples, undertook to look into the case in hand. Early, therefore, on the morning of the election, he sauntered down the cross street in which hung out the sign of the Brown Bear, and, as he expected, found Mr Reddypalm near his own door.

Now it was quite an understood thing that there was to be no bribery. This was understood by no one better than by Mr Romer, who had, in truth, drawn up many of the published assurances to that effect. And, to give him his due, he was fully
minded to act in accordance with these assurances. The object of all the parties was to make it worth the voters' while to give their votes; but to do so without bribery. Mr Romer had repeatedly declared that he would have nothing to do with any illegal practising; but he had also declared that, as long as all was done according to law, he was ready to lend his best efforts to assist Sir Roger. How he assisted Sir Roger, and adhered to the law, will now be seen.

Oh, Mr Romer! Mr Romer! is it not the case with thee that diou‘wouldst not play false and yet wouldst wrongly win'?
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Not in electioneering, Mr Romer, any more than in other pursuits, can a man touch pitch and not be defiled; as thou, innocent as thou art, wilt soon learn to thy terrible cost.

‘Well, Reddypalm,' said Mr Romer, shaking hands with him. Mr Romer had not been equally cautious as Nearthewinde, and had already drunk sundry glasses of ale at the Brown Bear, in the hope of softening the stern Bear-warden. ‘How is it to be today? Which is to be the man?'

‘If anyone knows that, Mr Romer, you must be the man. A poor numskull like me knows nothing of them matters. How should I? All I looks to, Mr Romer, is selling a trifle of drink now and then – selling it, and getting paid for it, you know, Mr Romer.'

‘Yes, that's important, no doubt. But come, Reddypalm, such an old friend of Sir Roger as you are, a man he speaks of as one of his intimate friends, I wonder how you can hesitate about it. Now with another man, I should think that he wanted to be paid for voting –'

‘Oh, Mr Romer! – fie – fie – fie!'

‘I know it's not the case with you. It would be an insult to offer you money, even if money were going. I should not mention this, only as money is not going, neither on our side nor on the other, no harm can be done.'

‘Mr Romer, if you speak of such a thing you'll hurt me. I know the value of an Englishman's franchise too well to wish to sell it. I would not demean myself so low; no, not though five-and-twenty pound a vote was going, as there was in the good old times – and that's not so long ago neither.'

‘I am sure you wouldn't, Reddypalm; I'm sure you wouldn't.
But an honest man like you should stick to old friends. Now, tell me,' and putting his arm through Reddypalm's, he walked with him into the passage of his own house; ‘Now, tell me – is there anything wrong? It's between friends, you know. Is there anything wrong?'

‘I wouldn't sell my vote for untold gold,' said Reddypalm, who was perhaps aware that untold gold would hardly be offered to him for it.

‘I am sure you would not,' said Mr Romer.

‘But,' said Reddypalm, ‘a man likes to be paid his little bill.'

‘Surely, surely,' said the barrister.

‘And I did say two years since, when your friend Mr Closerstil brought a friend of his down to stand here – it wasn't Sir Roger then – but when he brought a friend of his down, and when I drew two or three hogsheads of ale on their side, and when my bill was questioned and only half-settled, I did say that I wouldn't interfere with no election no more. And no more I will, Mr Romer – unless it be to give a quiet vote for the nobleman under whom I and mine always lived respectable.'

‘Oh!' said Mr Romer.

‘A man do like to have his bill paid, you know, Mr Romer.'

Mr Romer could not but acknowledge that this was a natural feeling on the part of an ordinary mortal publican.

‘It goes agin the grain with a man not to have his little bill paid, and specially at election time,' again urged Mr Reddypalm.

Mr Romer had not much time to think about it; but he knew well that matters were so nearly balanced, that the votes of Mr Reddypalm and his son were of inestimable value.

‘If it's only about your bill,' said Mr Romer, ‘I'll see to have that settled. I'll speak to Closerstil about that.'

‘All right!' said Reddypalm, seizing the young barrister's hand and shaking it warmly; ‘all right!' And late in the afternoon, when a vote or two became matter of intense interest, Mr Reddypalm and his son came up to the hustings and boldly tendered theirs for their old friend, Sir Roger.

There was a great deal of eloquence heard in Barchester on that day. Sir Roger had by this time so far recovered as to be able to go through the dreadfully hard work of canvassing and addressing the electors from eight in the morning till near sunset. A very
perfect recovery, most men will say. Yes; a perfect recovery as regarded the temporary use of his faculties, both physical and mental; though it may be doubted whether there can be any permanent recovery from such disease as his. What amount of brandy he consumed to enable him to perform this election work, and what lurking evil effect the excitement might have on him – of these matters no record was kept in the history of those proceedings.

Sir Roger's eloquence was of a rough kind; but not perhaps the less operative on those for whom it was intended. The aristocracy of Barchester consisted chiefly of clerical dignitaries, bishops, deans, prebendaries, and such like: on them and theirs it was not probable that anything said by Sir Roger would have much effect. Those men would either abstain from voting, or vote for the railway hero, with the view of keeping out the De Courcy candidate. Then came the shopkeepers, who might also be regarded as a stiff-necked generation, impervious to electioneering eloquence. They would, generally, support Mr Moffat. But there was an inferior class of voters, ten-pound freeholders,
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and such like, who, at this period, were somewhat given to have an opinion of their own, and over them it was supposed that Sir Roger did obtain some power by his gift of talking.

‘Now, gentlemen, will you tell me this,' said he, bawling at the top of his voice from off the portico which graced the door of the Dragon of Wantley, at which celebrated inn Sir Roger's committee sat: – ‘Who is Mr Moffat, and what has he done for us? There have been some picture-makers about the town this week past. The Lord knows who they are; I don't. These clever fellows do tell you who I am, and what I've done. I ain't very proud of the way they've painted me, though there's something about it I ain't ashamed of either. See here,' and he held up on one side of him one of the great daubs of himself – ‘just hold it there till I can explain it' and he handed the paper to one of his friends. ‘That's me,' said Sir Roger, putting up his stick, and pointing to the pimply-nosed representation of himself.

‘Hurrah! Hur-r-r-rah! more power to you – we all know who you are, Roger. You're the boy! When did you get drunk last?' Such-like greetings, together with a dead cat which was flung at him from the crowd, and which he dexterously parried with his stick, were the answers which he received to this exordium.

‘Yes,' said he, quite undismayed by this little missile which had so nearly reached him: ‘that's me. And look here; this brown, dirty-looking broad streak here is intended for a railway; and that thing in my hand – not the right hand; I'll come to that presently –'

‘How about the brandy, Roger?'

‘I'll come to that presently. I'll tell you about the brandy in good time. But that thing in my left hand is a spade. Now, I never handled a spade, and never could; but, boys, I handled a chisel and mallet; and many a hundred block of stone has come out smooth from under that hand'; and Sir Roger lifted up his great broad palm wide open.

‘So you did, Roger, and well we minds it.'

‘The meaning, however, of that spade is to show that I made that railway. Now I'm very much obliged to those gentlemen over at the White Horse for putting up this picture of me. It's a true picture, and it tells you who I am. I did make that railway. I have made thousands of miles of railway; I am making thousands of miles of railways – some in Europe, some in Asia, some in America. It's a true picture,' and he poked his stick through it and held it up to the crowd. ‘A true picture: but for that spade and that railway, I shouldn't be now here asking your votes; and, when next February comes, I shouldn't be sitting in Westminster to represent you, as, by God's grace, I certainly will do. That tells you who I am. But now, will you tell me who Mr Moffat is?'

‘How about the brandy, Roger?'

‘Oh, yes, the brandy! I was forgetting that and the little speech that is coming out of my mouth – a deal shorter speech, and a better one than what I am making now. Here, in the right hand you see is a brandy bottle. Well, boys, I'm not a bit ashamed of that; as long as a man does his work – and the spade shows that – it's only fair he should have something to comfort him. I'm always able to work, and few men work much harder. I'm always able to work, and no man has a right to expect more of me. I never expect more than that from those who work for me.'

‘No more you don't, Roger: a little drop's very good, ain't it, Roger? Keeps the cold from the stomach, eh, Roger?'

‘Then as to this speech, “Come, Jack, let's have a drop of some'at short.” Why, that's a good speech, too. When I do drink I
like to share with a friend; and I don't care how humble that friend is.'

‘Hurrah! more power. That's true, too, Roger; may you never be without a drop to wet your whistle.'

‘They say I'm the last new baronet. Well, I ain't ashamed of that; not a bit. When will Mr Moffat get himself made a baronet? No man can truly say I'm too proud of it. I have never stuck myself up; no, nor stuck my wife up either: but I don't see much to be ashamed of because the bigwigs chose to make a baronet of me.'

‘Nor, no more thee h'ant, Roger. We'd all be barrownites if so be we knew the way.'

‘But now, having polished off this bit of a picture, let me ask you who Mr Moffat is? There are pictures enough about him, too; though Heaven knows where they all come from. I think Sir Edwin Landseer
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must have done this one of the goose; it is so deadly natural. Look at it; there he is. Upon my word, whoever did that ought to make his fortune at some of these exhibitions. Here he is again with a big pair of scissors. He calls himself “England's honour”; what the deuce England's honour has to do with tailoring, I can't tell you: perhaps Mr Moffat can. But mind you, my friends, I don't say anything against tailoring: some of you are tailors, I dare say.'