Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette Guarantee FundTrinity College, Dublin, No. 175, and at the rooms of the ElizabethanSocietyDebtor and Creditor AccountTo 8 per cent, due on one third of £30, being amount ofguarantee for one month as per agreement signed August 9th,ult., equals 1s. 4d. (say, one shilling and fourpence).Examined and found correctJ. Selby-Harrison.Stamps (1s. 4d.) enclosed to balance account. Pleaseacknowledge receipt.
It is very gratifying to a guarantor to receive interest on his promise in this prompt and business-like way, but I am not sure that 8 per cent, will be sufficient to compensate me for the trouble I shall have in explaining my position to the Board of Trinity College, the Representative Body of the Church of Ireland, the Standing Committee of the Roman Catholic Hierarchy, the Presbyterian General Assembly, and the committee of the Kildare Street Club. The next sheet of Selby-Harrison’s accounts was equally business-like in form.
Anti-Tommy-Rot Gazette Guarantee Fund Trinity College,Dublin, No. 175, and at the rooms of the Elizabethan SocietyPer Contra.By one third of £30, being amount of guarantee for one monthas per agreement signed August 9th, ult., £10, less paymentby advertiser for single insertion, being one twelfth of 7s.9d. contract price for year, 7.75 pence equals £9-19-4.25(say nine pounds nineteen shillings and fourpence farthing)now due by guarantor. Examined and found correct. Kindlyremit at once to avoid legal proceedings.J. Selby-Harrison.
The last thing in the world I wanted was further legal proceedings. With eighteen libel actions pending and three more threatened in the near future, the Irish courts would be kept busy enough without being forced to deal with a writ issued by Selby-Harrison against me. I sat down at once and remitted, making out my cheque for the round sum of £10, and telling Selby-Harrison that he could set the extra 7.75 pence against postage and petty cash. I pointed out at the same time that the advertiser, considering the unexpectedly wide publicity which had been given to his desire for second-hand feather beds, had got off ridiculously cheap. I suggested that he might, if approached, agree to pay the extra .25 of a penny.
I turned over the other three envelopes and chose for my next experiment one addressed in a delicate female hand. It seemed to me scarcely possible that letters formed as these were could convey sentiments of any but a fragrant kind. I turned out to be mistaken. This letter was more pitiless even than Selby-Harrison’s stark mathematical statements.
“Owing to the incessant worry and annoyance of the last three days I am prostrate with a bad attack of my old enemy and am obliged to dictate this letter.”
The signature, written with evident pain, told me that the dictator was my Uncle Thormanby. The “old enemy” was, as I knew, gout.
“Miss Battersby is acting as my amanuensis.”
For the fifth or sixth time in my life I felt sorry for Miss Battersby.
“Canon Beresford’s girl has libelled eighty or ninety bishops in the most outrageous way. I am not sure of the law, but I sincerely hope that it may be found possible to send her to gaol with hard labour for a term of years. Not that I care what she says about bishops. They probably deserve all they get and in any case it’s no business of mine. What annoys me is that she has mixed you up in the scandal. Old Tollerton was sniggering about the club in the most disgusting way the day before yesterday, and telling every one that you were financing the minx. He says he has it on the best authority.
“I found a letter waiting for me when I came home from the secretary of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association, asking me if the rumour was true. I had just arranged with them to put you up for the East Connor division of Down at the general election and everything was looking rosy. Then this confounded stinkpot of a bombshell burst in our midst. That outrageous brat of Beresford’s ought to be soundly whipped. I always said so and it turns out now that I was perfectly right.
“I need scarcely tell you that if your name is connected with these libel actions in any way your chance of election won’t be worth two pence. The Nationalist blackguards would make the most of it, of course, and I don’t see how our people could defend you without bringing the parsons and Presbyterian ministers out like wasps.
“I have authoritatively denied that you have, or ever had, any connection with or knowledge of the scurrilous print; so I beg that you will at once withdraw the guarantee which I understand you have given. If you don’t do this my position, as well as your own, will be infernally awkward. I wanted to get a hold of Beresford to-day, but hear that he has gone to Iceland. Just like him! I thought I might have bullied him into taking the responsibility and clearing you. The Archdeacon won’t. I tried him. Tollerton, who insisted on sitting next me at luncheon in the club, says that you may be able to hush the thing up by offering to build a new church for each of the bishops named. This would cost thousands and cripple you for the rest of your life, so we won’t make any overtures in that direction till everything else fails. Tollerton always makes the worst of everything. They say he has Bright’s disease. I shan’t be sorry when he’s gone; but if I have to go through much more worry of this kind it’s likely enough that he’ll see me out.”
With this letter was enclosed a small slip of paper bearing a message which appeared to have been very hurriedly written.
“Pleasedo not be too angry with Lalage. I’m sure she didnot mean any harm. She is a very high-spirited girl, butmost affectionate. I’msosorry about it all especiallyfor your poor mother.“Amélie Battersby.”
Miss Battersby need not have made her appeal. Even if I had been very angry with Lalage my uncle’s letter would have softened my heart toward her. She deserved well and not ill of me. The decision of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association came on me as a shock. I had no idea that my uncle was negotiating with them on my behalf. If Lalage’sGazettedisgusted them with me and made it obvious that I could not succeed as a candidate in the East Connor Division of County Down I should be greatly pleased, and my ten pounds, or whatever larger sum might be required to pacify the fiercest of the bishops, would be very well spent.
I opened the Archdeacon’s letter next. It was, with the exception of Selby-Harrison’s, the shortest of the whole batch.
“I write, not in anger but in sorrow. Lalage, whom I can only think of as a dear but misguided child, has been led away by the influence of undesirable companions into a grievous mistake. I shrink from applying a severer word. As a man of the world I cannot shut my eyes to the fact that the money, the considerable sum of money, which you have placed at the disposal of these young people has proved a temptation, not to Lalage, but to those with whom she has unfortunately associated herself. In the event of your deciding, as I strongly urge you to do, to withdraw your financial guarantee, these unscrupulous persons, seeing no prospect of further profit, will no doubt cease to lead Lalage astray.”
The idea in the Archdeacon’s mind evidently was that Selby-Harrison and Hilda had exploited Lalage, and obtained the money for unhallowed revellings, from me. I should like to hear Hilda’s mother’s opinion of the Archdeacon’s view. Its injustice was of course quite evident to me. I had Selby-Harrison’s accounts before me, and nothing could be clearer than they were. Besides I knew from my mother’s letter that what the Archdeacon now said about Selby-Harrison and Hilda he had originally said about me. When the truth, the whole truth, about the publication of theAnti-Tommy-Rot Gazetteis published, it will be recognized that Selby-Harrison, Hilda, and I, so far from urging Lalage on or leading her astray, were from first to last little more than tools for her use, clay in her potter’s hands.
My fifth letter turned out to be from the Provost of Trinity College. It was written in very courteous terms and was, on the whole, the most encouraging I had yet read.
He wrote:
“You must forgive my meddling in your affairs, and accept the fact that I am, in some sense, an old family friend, as my excuse for offering you a word of advice. I knew your father before you were born, and as a young man I often dined at your grandfather’s table. This gives me a kind of right to make a suggestion which I have no doubt you will take in good part. Three young people, who as students in this college are more or less under my charge, have got into a scrape which might very well be serious but which, I hope, will turn out in the end to be merely ridiculous. They have printed and published a small magazine in which no less than twenty-one of the Irish bishops are fiercely attacked.
“It is only fair to say that they have been actuated by no sectarian spirit. They are equally severe on Protestant and Roman Catholic ecclesiastics. The publication was at once brought under my notice, and I could do nothing else but send for the delinquents. Nothing could have been more praiseworthy than their candour. They gave me an account of the purpose of their society—they have formed a society—which showed that their objects were not in any way vicious, although the means they adopted for furthering them were highly culpable. I spoke to them strongly, very strongly indeed, and I trust made some impression on them. At the same time I must confess that one of them, Miss Lalage Beresford, displayed the greatest determination and absolutely declined to give me a promise that the publication of the magazine would be discontinued, except on conditions which I could not possibly consider. You will recognize at once that for Miss Lalage’s own sake, as well as for the sake of college discipline, I cannot have any further publication of theAnti-Tommy-Rot Gazette.
“At the same time I am unwilling to proceed to extremities against her or either of the others. They are all young and will learn sense in due time. It occurs to me that perhaps the simplest way out of the difficulty will be for you to withdraw the guarantee of financial assistance which, as I understand, you have given. If you are prepared to support me in this way I may safely promise that no further notice of the absurd publication will be taken by the college authorities. There are rumours of libel actions pending, but I think we may disregard them. No damages can be obtained from you beyond the amount of your original guarantee, which, I understand, did not amount to more than £30. All the other defendants are minors, dependent entirely on their parents for their support, so the aggrieved parties will probably not proceed far with their action. If you agree to stop supplies and so prevent the possibility of further publication, I shall use my influence to have the whole affair hushed up.”
There remained only the fifth letter; the second of those which bore a typewritten address. I opened it and found that it came from Lalage. She wrote:
“We have only been able, to hire this typewriter for one week so I’m practising hard at it. That is why I’m typing this letter. Please excuse mistakes.”
There were a good many mistakes but I excused them.
“Your copy of theAnti-Tommy-Rot Gazettewent to you first thing. Hilda nearly forgot to post it, but didn’t quite, which was lucky, for all the rest were seized from us, except nine, which Selby-Harrison gave to a news agent, who sold them but didn’t pay us, though he may yet. Hard Luck, I call that. Don’t you? Some ass sent a copy, marked, to the Prov. and the next thing we knew was that both offices were raided by college porters and our property stolen by force. We were furious, but before we could take any action—we were going to consult a lawyer, a K.C., whose son happens to be a friend of Selby-Harrison’s on account of being captain of Trinity 3rd A (hockey), in which Selby-Harrison plays halfback—our doom was upon us and Selby-Harrison was sent for by the Prov. He came back shattered, like that telescope man who got caught by the Inquisition, having spent hours on the rack and nearly had his face eaten off as well. Our turn came next. We (Hilda and I) had just time to dart off on top of a tram to Trinity Hall (that’s where we have our rooms), you know, of course, and jump into our best frocks before 1 P.M., the hour of our summons to the august presence. Hilda’s is a tussore silk, frightfully sweet, and I had a blouse with a lot of Carrickmacross lace on it.
“Hilda was in a pea-blue funk when it came to the moment and kept pulling at her left glove until she tore the button off. I was a bit jellyfishy myself down the back; but I needn’t have been. The minute I got into the room I could see that the old Prov. was a perfect pet and didn’t really mean anything, though he tried to look as if he did.”
I have always disliked the modern system of co-education and after reading Lalage’s letter I was strongly inclined to agree with the bishop who wants to stamp it out, beginning with the infant schools. I do not agree with his reasoning. My objection—it applies particularly to the admission of grown-up young women to universities—is that even-handed justice is never administered. The girls get off cheap. Some day, perhaps, we shall have a lady presiding as provost over one of our great universities. Then the inequalities of our present arrangements will be balanced by others. The Lalages and Hildas of those days will spend hours upon the rack. If they are fools enough to jump into tussore frocks and blouses with Carrickmacross lace on them before being admitted to the august presence, they will have their faces eaten off as well. On the other hand, the Selby-Harrisons, if reasonably good-looking young men, will find the Prov. a perfect pet, who doesn’t really mean anything; who, perhaps, will not even try to look as if she does.
“He jawed a lot, of course, but we did not mind that a bit; at least I didn’t, for I knew he only did it because he had to. In the end he asked us to promise not to annoy bishops any more. Hilda promised. Rather base of her, I call it; but by that time she had dragged the second button off her glove and would have promised simply anything. I stuck on and said I wouldn’t. He seemed a bit put out, and he’d been such a dear about the whole thing that I hated having to refuse him. You know the sort of way you feel when somebody, that you want frightfully to do things for, will clamour on for what you know is wrong. That’s the way I was and at last I couldn’t stand it any more, so I said I’d promise on condition that the bishops all undertook not to say any more silly things except in church. That was as far as I could well go and I thought the Prov. would have jumped at the offer. Instead of which he first scowled in a very peculiar way and then his face all wrinkled up and got quite red so that I thought he was going to get some kind of fit. Without saying another word he in a sort of way hustled us out of the room. That was the only really rude thing he did to us; but Selby-Harrison sticks to it that he was perfectly awful to him. We don’t quite know what will happen next, but both the other two think that we’d better not have the college porters arrested for stealing the magazines. I’d like to, but, of course, they are two to one. Selby-Harrison is looking like a sick turkey and is constantly sighing. He says he thinks he’ll have to be a doctor now. He had meant to go into the Divinity School and be ordained but after what the Provost said to him he doesn’t see how he can. Rather rough luck on him, having to fall back on the medical; but I don’t think he’ll mind much in the end, except that he doubts whether his father can afford the fees. That will be a difficulty, if true.”
I wonder what the fees amount to. I am inclined to think that it is my duty to see Selby-Harrison through. I should not like to think of his whole career being wrecked. At the same time I am inclined to think that it would be waste to turn him into a doctor. He ought to make his mark as a chartered accountant if he gets a chance. I shall speak to my mother about him when I go home and see what she suggests.
“Hilda’s mother has written saying that Hilda is not to spend next hols with me; which was all arranged before the fuss began. I can’t see what objection she can possibly have. Anyhow it is frightful tyranny and of course we don’t mean to stand it. Selby-Harrison says that perhaps if you wrote to her she would give in; but I don’t want you to do this. I hate crawling, especially to Hilda’s mother and people like that, but if you like to do it you can. Selby-Harrison says that your mother being an honourable, will make a lot of difference, though I don’t see what that has to do with me. Still if you think it will be any use there’s no reason why you shouldn’t mention it. Hilda has cried buckets full since the letter came.”
I am sorry for Hilda but I shall not write to her mother. I have enough on my hands without that. Besides, as Lalage says, I do not see the connection between my mother’s position in society and Hilda’s mother’s schemes for her daughter’s holidays.
“P.S. I hope you got your 8 per cent, all right. I told Selby-Harrison to send it. We were all three stony at the time and had to borrow it from another girl who is going in for logic honours, but she’s quite rich, so it doesn’t matter. Hilda didn’t want to, and said she’d give her two gold safety pins, which she got last Christmas, if Selby-Harrison would pawn them for her. But he wouldn’t, and I thought it was hardly worth while for the sake of one and fourpence, besides making her mother more furious than ever. We ought not to have had to borrow more than fourpence, for Selby-Harrison had a shilling the night before, but went and spent it on having a Turkish bath. Rather a rotten thing to do, I think, when we owed it. But he said he’d forgotten about the 8 per cent, and had to have the Turkish bath on account of the way the Prov. talked to him. That was yesterday, of course, not to-day.”
I was glad when I read this that I had made out my cheque for the whole ten pounds. Selby-Harrison will be in a position to pay the other girl back. She may be quite rich, but she will not like being done out of her money. The fact that she is going in for logic honours shows me that she has a precise kind of mind and a good deal of quiet determination. I should be surprised if she submitted meekly to the loss of one and fourpence.
“P.P.S. I always forget to tell you that Pussy (Miss Battersby) says she left a hat pin with a silver swallow on the end of it in that first hotel in Lisbon. Would you mind going in the next day you are passing and asking for it? I hate to bother you and I wouldn’t, only that we don’t any of us remember the name of the hotel and so can’t write.”
I rather shrank from asking that hotel keeper for a pin supposed to have been dropped in one of his bedrooms during the previous August. But Miss Battersby, at least, does not deserve to suffer. I spent a long afternoon going round the jewellers’ shops in Lisbon and in the end secured a pin with two silver doves and a heart on it. I sent this to Miss Battersby and explained that it was the nearest thing to her original swallow which the hotel keeper had been able to find. She is, fortunately, quite an easy person to please. She wrote thanking me for the trouble I had taken.
My friends were singularly successful in their negotiations on my behalf. Not a single bishop proceeded with his libel action against Lalage. Nor was I forced to buy any of them off by building even a small cathedral. I attribute our escape from their vengeance entirely to the Provost. His clear statement of the impossibility of obtaining damages by any legal process must have had its effect.
Gossip too died away with remarkable suddenness. I heard afterward that old Tollerton got rapidly worse and succumbed to his disease, whatever it was, very shortly after his last interview with my uncle. I have no doubt that his death had a good deal to do with the decay of public interest in theAnti-Tommy-Rot Gazette. The Archdeacon, who also was inclined to talk a good deal, had his mind distracted by other events. The bishop of our diocese had a paralytic stroke. He was not one of those whom Lalage libelled, so the blame for his misfortune cannot be laid on us. The Archdeacon was, in consequence, very fully occupied in the management of diocesan affairs and forgot all about theGazette. Canon Beresford ventured back to his parish after a stay of six weeks in Wick. He would not have dared to return if there had been the slightest chance of the Archdeacon’s reverting to the painful subject in conversation. Had there been even the slightest reference to it in the newspapers, Canon Beresford, instead of returning home, would have gone farther afield to an Orkney Island or the Shetland group, or, perhaps, to one of those called Faroe, which do not appear on ordinary maps but are believed by geographers to exist. Thus when my mother, in the course of one of her letters, mentioned casually that Canon Beresford had lunched with her, I knew, as Noah did when the dove no longer returned to him, that the flood had abated.
My uncle was also successful, too successful, in his effort. His definite denial of my connection with theAnti-Tommy-Rot Gazetteobtained credence with the Committee of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association. My name retained its place on their books and they continued to put me forward as a candidate for the East Connor division of Down at the General Election.
I only found this fact out by degrees, for nobody seemed to think it worth while to tell me. My uncle said afterward that my ignorance, in which he found it very difficult to believe, was entirely my own fault. I cannot deny this: though I still hold that I ought to have been plainly informed of my destiny and not left to infer it from the figures in the accounts which were sent to me from time to time. When I went to Portugal I left my money affairs very much in the hands of my mother and my uncle. I had what I wanted. They spent what they thought right in the management of my estate, in subscriptions and so forth. The accounts which they sent me, very different indeed from the spirited statements of Selby-Harrison, bored me, and I did not realize for some time that I was subscribing handsomely to a large number of local objects in places of which I had never even heard the names. I now know that they are towns and villages in the East Connor division of Down, and my uncle has told me that this kind of expenditure is called nursing the constituency.
The first definite news of my candidature came to me, curiously enough, from Lalage. She wrote me a letter during the Christmas holidays:
“There was a party (flappers, with dancing and a sit-down supper, not a Christmas tree) at Thormanby Park last night. I got a bit fed up with ‘the dear girls’ (Cattersby’s expression) at about nine o’clock and slipped off with Hilda in hope of a cigarette. (Hilda’s mother’s cook got scarlatina, so she had to give in about Hilda coming here for the hols after all. Rather a climb down for her, I should say.) It was jolly lucky we did, as it turned out, though we didn’t succeed in getting the whiff. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were in the smoking room, so we pretended we’d come to look for Hilda’s pocket snuffler. The Archdeacon came to the party with a niece, in a green dress, who’s over from London, and stiff with swank, though what about I don’t know, for she can’t play hockey a bit, has only read the most rotten books, and isn’t much to look at, though the green dress is rather sweet, with a lace yoke and sequins on the skirt. Why didn’t you tell me you were going into Parliament? I’m frightfully keen on elections and mean to go and help you. So does Hilda now that she knows about it, and I wrote to Selby-Harrison this morning. We’ve changed the name of the society to the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying (A.S.P.L.). Rather appropriate, isn’t it, with a general election just coming on? Of course you’re still a life member. The change of name isn’t a constitutional alteration. Selby-Harrison made sure of that before we did it, so it doesn’t break up the continuity, which is most important for us all. Lord Thormanby and the Archdeacon were jawing away like anything while we were searching about for the hanker, and took no notice of us, although the Archdeacon is frightfully polite now as a rule, quite different from what he used to be. They said the election was a soft thing for you unless somebody went and put up a third man. I rather hope they will, don’t you? Dead certs are so rottenly unsporting. I’ll have a meeting of the committee as soon as I get back to Dublin. This will be just the chance we want, for we haven’t had any sort of a look in since they suppressed theGazette.”
I put this letter of Lalage’s aside and did not answer it for some time. I thought that she and Hilda might have misunderstood what my uncle and the Archdeacon were saying. I did not regard it as possible that an important matter of the kind should be settled without my knowing anything about it; and I expected that Lalage would find out her mistake for herself. It turned out in the end that she had not made a mistake. Early in January I got three letters, all marked urgent. One was from my uncle, one from the secretary of the Conservative and Unionist Association and one from a Mr. Titherington, who seemed to be a person of some importance in the East Connor division of County Down. They all three told me the same news. I had been unanimously chosen by the local association as Conservative candidate at the forthcoming general election. They all insisted that I should go home at once. I did so, but before starting I answered Lalage’s letter. I foresaw that the active assistance of the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying in the campaign before me might have very complicated results, and would almost certainly bring on worry. The local conservative association, for instance, might not care for Lalage. Hardly any local conservative association would. Mr. Titherington might not hit it off with Selby-Harrison, and I realized from the way he wrote, that Mr. Titherington was a man of strong character. I worded my letter to Lalage very carefully. I did not want to hurt her feelings by refusing an offer which was kindly meant.
I wrote,
“I need scarcely tell you, how gladly I should welcome the assistance offered by the A.S.P.L., if I had nothing but my own feelings to consider. Speeches from you and Hilda would brighten up what threatens to be a dull affair. Selby-Harrison’s advice would be invaluable. But I cannot, in fairness to others, accept the offer unconditionally. Selby-Harrison’s father ought to be consulted. He has already been put to great expense through his son’s expulsion from the Divinity School, and I would not like, now that he has, I suppose, paid some, at least, of the fees for medical training, to put him to fresh expense by involving his son in an enterprise which may very well result in his being driven from the dissecting room. Then we must think of Hilda’s mother. If she insisted on Miss Battersby accompanying her daughter to Portugal in the capacity of chaperon, she is almost certain to have prejudices against electioneering as a sport for young girls.
“Perhaps circumstances have altered since I last heard from you in such a way as to make the consultations I suggest unnecessary. Mr. Selby-Harrison senior and Hilda’s mother may both have died, prematurely worn out by great anxiety. In that case I do not press for any consideration of their wishes. But if they still linger on I should particularly wish to obtain their approval before definitely accepting the offer of the A.S.P.L.”
I thought that a good letter. It was possible that Mr. Selby-Harrison had died, but I felt sure, judging from what I had heard of her, that Hilda’s mother was a woman of vigour and determination who would live as long as was humanly possible. I was not even slightly disquieted by a telegram handed to me just before I left Lisbon.
“Letter received. Scruples strictly respected. Otherarrangements in contemplation.“Lalage.”
I forgot all about the Association for the Suppression of Public Lying and its offer of help when I arrived in Ireland. Mr. Titherington came up to Dublin to meet me and showed every sign of keeping me very busy indeed. He turned out to be a timber merchant by profession, who organized elections by way of recreation whenever opportunity offered. I was told in the office of the Conservative and Unionist Association that no man living was more crafty in electioneering than Mr. Titherington, and that I should do well to trust myself entirely to his guidance. I made up my mind to do so. My uncle who also met me in Dublin, had been making inquiries of his own about Mr. Titherington and gave me the results of them in series of phrases which, I felt sure, he had picked up from somebody else. “Titherington,” he said, “has his finger on the pulse of the constituency.” “There isn’t a trick of the trade but Titherington is thoroughly up to it.” “For taking the wind out of the sails of the other side Titherington is absolutely A1.” All this confirmed me in my determination to follow Mr. Titherington, blindfold.
The first time I met him he told me that we were going to have a sharp contest and gave me the impression that he was greatly pleased. A third candidate had taken the field, a man in himself despicable, whose election was an impossibility; but capable perhaps of detaching from me a number of votes sufficient to put the Nationalist in the majority.
“And O’Donoghue, let me tell you,” said Titherington, “is a smart man and a right good speaker.”
“I’m not,” I said.
“I can see that.”
I do not profess to know how he saw it. So far as I know, inability to make speeches does not show on a man’s face, and Titherington had no other means of judging at that time except the appearance of my face. No one in fact, not even my mother, could have been sure then that I was a bad speaker. I had never spoken at a public meeting.
“But,” said Titherington, “we’ll pull you through all right. That blackguard Vittie can’t poll more than a couple of hundred.”
“Vittie,” I said “is, I suppose, the tertium quid, not the Nationalist. I’m sorry to trouble you with inquiries of this kind, but in case of accident it’s better for me to know exactly who my opponents are.”
“He calls himself a Liberal. He’s going baldheaded for some temperance fad and is backed by a score or so of Presbyterian ministers. We’ll have to call canny about temperance.”
“If you want me to wear any kind of glass button on the lapel of my coat, I’ll do it; but I’m not going to sign a total abstinence pledge. I’d rather not be elected.”
Titherington was himself drinking whiskey and water while we talked. He grinned broadly and I felt reassured. We had dined together in my hotel, and Titherington had consumed the greater part of a bottle of champagne, a glass of port, and a liqueur with his coffee. It was after dinner that he demanded whiskey and water. It seemed unlikely that he would ask me even to wear a button.
“As we’re on the subject of temperance,” he said, “you may as well sign a couple of letters. I have them ready for you and I can post them as I go home to-night.” He picked up a despatch box which he had brought with him and kept beside him during dinner. It gave me a shock to see the box opened. It actually overflowed with papers and I felt sure that they all concerned my election. Titherington tossed several bundles of them aside, and came at last upon a small parcel kept together by an elastic band.
“This,” he said, handing me a long typewritten document, “is from the Amalgamated Association of Licensed Publicans. You needn’t read it. It simply asks you to pledge yourself to oppose all legislation calculated to injure the trade. This is your answer.”
He handed me another typewritten document.
“Shall I read it?” I asked.
“You needn’t unless you like. All I require is your signature.”
I have learned caution in the diplomatic service. I read my letter before signing it, although I intended to sign it whatever it might commit me to. I had promised my uncle and given the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association to understand that I would place myself unreservedly in Titherington’s hands.
“I see,” I said, “that I pledge myself——”
“You give the Amalgamated Association to understand that you pledge yourself,” said Titherington.
“The same thing, I suppose?”
“Not quite,” said Titherington grinning again.
“Anyhow,” I said, “it’s the proper thing, the usual thing to do?”
“O’Donoghue has done it, and I expect that ruffian Vittie will have to in the end, little as he’ll like it.”
I signed.
“Here,” said Titherington, “is the letter of the joint committee of the Temperance Societies.”
“There appear to be twenty-three of them,” I said, glancing at the signatures.
“There are; and if there were only ten voters in each it would be more than we could afford to lose. Vittie thinks he has them all safe in his breeches pocket, but I have a letter here which will put his hair out of curl for a while.”
“I hate men with curly hair,” I said. “It’s so effeminate.”
Titherington seemed to think this remark foolish, though I meant it as an additional evidence of my determination to oppose Vittie to the last.
“Read the letter,” he said.
I read it. If such a thing had been physically possible it would have put my hair into curl. It did, I feel almost certain, make it rise up and stand on end.
“I see by this letter,” I said, “that I am pledging myself to support some very radical temperance legislation.”
“You’re giving them to understand that you pledge yourself. There’s a difference, as I told you before.”
“I may find myself in rather an awkward position if——”
“You’ll, be in a much awkwarder one if Vittie gets those votes and lets O’Donoghue in!”
Titherington spoke in such a determined tone that I signed the letter at once.
“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Now that I am pledging myself in this wholesale way there’s no particular reason why I shouldn’t go on.”
Titherington shuffled his papers about.
“Most of the rest of them,” he said, “are just the ordinary things. We needn’t worry about them. There’s only one other letter—ah! here it is. By the way, have you any opinions about woman’s suffrage?”
“Not one,” I said, “but I don’t, of course, want to be ragged if it can be avoided. Shall I pledge myself to get votes for all the unmarried women in the constituency, or ought I to go further?”
Titherington looked at me severely. Then he said:
“It won’t do us any harm if Vittie is made to smell hell by a few militant Suffragettes.”
“After the hole he’s put us in about temperance,” I said, “he’ll deserve the worst they can do to him.”
“In any ordinary case I’d hesitate; for women are a nuisance, a d——d nuisance. But this is going to be such an infernally near thing that I’m half inclined—— It’s nuts and apples to them to get their knives into any one calling himself a Liberal, which shows they have some sense. Besides, the offer has, so to speak, dropped right into our mouths. It would be sinning against our mercies and flying in the face of Providence not to consider it.”
I had, up to that moment, no reason for suspecting Titherington of any exaggerated respect for Providence. But there are queer veins of religious feeling in the most hard-headed men. I saw that Titherington had a theological side to his character and I respected him all the more for it.
“Here’s a letter,” he said, “from one of the suffrage societies, offering to send down speakers to help us. As I said before, women are a nuisance, but it’s just possible that there may be a few cranks among that temperance lot. You’ll notice that if a man has one fad he generally runs to a dozen, and there may be a few who really want women to get votes. We can’t afford to chuck away any chances. If I could get deputations from the Anti-Vaccinationists and the Anti-Gamblers I would. But I’d be afraid of their going back on us and supporting Vittie. Anyhow, if these women are the right sort they’ll pursue Vittie round and round the constituency and yell at him every time he opens his mouth.”
I took the letter from Titherington. It was headed A.S.P.L. and signed Lalage Beresford.
“Are you quite sure,” I said, “that the A.S.P.L. is a woman’s suffrage society?”
“It must be,” said Titherington. “The letter’s signed by a woman, at least I suppose Lalage is a woman’s name. It certainly isn’t a man’s.”
“Still——”
“And what the devil would women be writing to us for if they weren’t Suffragettes?”
“But A.S.P.L. doesn’t stand for——”
“It must,” said Titherington. “S stands for Suffrage, doesn’t it? The rest is some fancy conglomeration. I tell you that there are so many of these societies nowadays that it’s pretty hard for a new one to find a name at all.”
“All the same——”
“There’s no use arguing about their name. The question we have to decide is whether it’s worth our while importing Suffragettes into the constituency or not.”
If Titherington had not interrupted me so often and if he had not displayed such complete self-confidence I should have told him what the A.S.P.L. really was and warned him to be very careful about enlisting Lalage’s aid. But I was nettled by his manner and felt that it would be very good for him to find out his mistake for himself. I remained silent.
“I think the best thing I can do,” he said, “is to interview the lady. I can judge then whether she’s likely to be any use to us.”
I felt very pleased to think that Titherington would learn his mistake from Lalage herself. He will be much less arrogant afterward.
“If she is simply an old frump with a bee in her bonnet,” he said, “who wants to bore people, I’ll head her off at once. If she’s a sporting sort of girl who’ll take on Vittie at his own meetings and make things hum generally, I think I’ll engage her and her lot. I don’t happen to be a magistrate myself, but most of them are your supporters. There won’t be a bit of use his trying to have her up for rioting. We’ll simply laugh at him and she’ll be worse afterward. Let me see now. She’s in Dublin. ‘Trinity Hall,’ whatever that is. If I write to-night she’ll get the letter in the morning. Suppose I say 11 a.m.”
“I should rather like to be present at the interview,” I said.
“You needn’t trouble yourself. I sha’n’t commit you to anything and the whole thing will be verbal. There won’t be a scrap of paper for her to show afterward, even if she turns nasty.”
It seemed to me likely that there would be paper to show afterward. If Lalage has Selby-Harrison behind her she will go to that interview with an agreement in her pocket ready for signature.
“All the same,” I said, “I’d like to be there simply out of curiosity.”
Titherington shrugged his shoulders.
“Very well,” he said, “but let me do the talking. I don’t want you to get yourself tied up in some impossible knot. You’d far better leave it to me.”
I assured him that I did not in the least want to talk, but I persisted in my determination to be present at the interview. Titherington had bullied me enough for one evening and my promise to put myself entirely in his hands was never meant to extend to the limiting of my intercourse with Lalage. Besides, I enjoyed the prospect of seeing him tied up in some impossible knot, and I believed that Lalage was just the girl to tie him.
Titherington had a room, temporarily set apart for his use as an office, in the house of the Conservative and Unionist Parliamentary Association. Here he was at liberty to spread about on a large table all the papers he carried in his despatch box and many others. The profusion was most impressive, and would, I am sure, have struck a chill into the soul of Vittie had he seen it. Here were composed and written the letters which I afterward signed, wonderful letters, which like the witches in Macbeth “paltered in a double sense.” Here Titherington entered into agreements with bill printers and poster artists, for my election was to be conducted on the best possible system with all the modern improvements, an object lesson to the rest of Ireland. Here also the interview with Lalage took place. The room was a great convenience to us. Our proper headquarters were, of course, in Ballygore, the principal town in the East Connor division of Down. But a great deal of business had to be done in Dublin and we could hardly have got on without an office.
I walked into this room a few minutes before eleven on the morning after I had entertained Titherington in my hotel.
“The lady hasn’t arrived yet,” I said.
“She’s gone,” said Titherington. “She was here at half-past eight o’clock.”
I noticed that Titherington spoke in a subdued way and that his eyes had a furtive expression I had never seen in them before. I felt encouraged to give expression to the annoyance which I felt. I told Titherington plainly that I thought he ought not to have changed the hour of the interview without telling me. It seemed to me that he had played me a mean trick and I resented it. Greatly to my surprise Titherington apologized meekly.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he said, “and I hadn’t time to communicate with you. I only got this at twenty minutes past eight and had no more than time to get here myself.”
He handed me a telegram.
“Eleven quite impossible. Say 8.30. Jun. Soph. Ord. begins at 9.30. Lalage Beresford.”
“I was just sitting down to breakfast,” said Titherington, “and I had to get up without swallowing so much as a cup of tea and hop on to a car. She’s a tremendously prompt young woman.”
“She is,” I said, “and always was.”
“You know her then?”
“I’ve known her slightly since she was quite a little girl.”
“Why didn’t you tell me so last night?”
“I tried to,” I said, “but you kept on interrupting me, so I gave up.”
Titherington’s conscience may have pricked him. He was certainly in a chastened mood, but he showed no sign of wishing to make any further apologies. On the contrary he began to recover something of his habitual self-assertiveness.
“If you know her,” he said, “perhaps you can tell me what a Jun. Soph. Ord. is?”
“No, I can’t. She was always, even as a child, fond of using contractions. I remember her writing to me about a ‘comp.’ and she habitually used ‘hols’ and ‘rec.’ for holidays and recreation.”
“It sounds to me,” said Titherington, “like a police court.”
“You don’t mean to say that you think she’s been arrested for anything?”
“I hope so.”
“Why?” I asked. “Was she too much for you this morning?”
Titherington ignored the second question.
“I hope so,” he said, “because if she’s the sort of girl who gets arrested, she’ll be most useful to us. She was quite on for annoying Vittie. She says she’s been looking up his speeches and that he’s one of the worst liars she ever came across. She’s quite right there.”
“I wish,” I said, “that you’d go and bail her out. Her father’s a clergyman and it will be a horrible thing if there’s any public scandal.”
“I hinted at that as delicately as I could. I didn’t actually mention bail, because I wasn’t quite sure that a Jun. Soph. Ord. mightn’t be something in the Probate and Divorce Court. She simply laughed at me and said she didn’t want any help. She told me that she and Hilda, whoever Hilda is, are sure to be all right, because the Puffin is always a lamb—I suppose the Puffin is some name they have for the magistrate—but that a Miss Harrison would probably be stuck.”
“She can’t have said Miss Harrison.”
“No. She said Selly, or Selby-Harrison, short for Selina I thought.”
“As a matter of fact, Selby-Harrison—it’s a hyphenated surname—is a man.”
“Oh, is it?” said Titherington, using the neuter pronoun because, I suppose, he was still uncertain about Selby-Harrison’s sex.
“I wish,” I said, “that I knew exactly what they’ve done.”
“It doesn’t in the least matter to us. So long as she’s the kind of young woman who does something we shall be satisfied.”
“Oh, she’s that.”
“So I saw. And she’s an uncommonly good-looking girl. The crowd will be all on her side when she starts breaking up Vittie’s meetings.”
“You accepted her offer of help then?”
“Certainly,” said Titherington. “She’s to speak at a meeting of yours on the twenty-first.”
Titherington was by this time talking with all his usual buoyant confidence, but I still caught the furtive look in his eyes which I had noticed at first. He seemed to me to have something to conceal, to be challenging criticism and to be preparing to defend himself. Now a man who is on the defensive and who wants to conceal something has generally acted in a way of which he is ashamed. I felt encouraged.
“You didn’t commit me in any way, I hope,” I said.
“Certainly not. I didn’t have to. She was as keen as nuts on helping us and didn’t ask a single question about your views on the suffrage question. I needn’t say I didn’t introduce the subject.”
“You didn’t sign anything, I suppose?”
Titherington became visibly embarrassed. He hesitated.
“I rather expected you’d have to,” I said.
“It wasn’t anything of the slightest importance.”
“Selby-Harrison drew it up, I expect.”
“So she said. But it didn’t matter in the least. If it had been anything that tied us down I shouldn’t have signed it.”
“You would,” I said. “Whatever it was you’d have signed it.”
“She rather rushed me. She’s a most remarkable young woman. However that’s all the better for us. If she’s capable of rushing me,” Titherington’s chest swelled again as he spoke, “she’ll simply make hay of Vittie. It would be worth going to hear her heckling that beast on votes for women. Believe me, he won’t like it.”
“She had you at a disadvantage,” I said. “You hadn’t breakfasted.”
Titherington became suddenly thoughtful.
“I wish I knew more about ordinary law,” he said. “I’m all right on Corrupt Practices and that kind of thing, but I don’t know the phraseology outside of electioneering. Do you think a Jun. Soph. Ord. can be any process in a libel action?”
“It might be. Why do you ask?”
“Well, the paper I signed was a sort of agreement to indemnify them in case of proceedings for libel. I signed because I didn’t think a girl like that would be likely to say anything which Vittie would regard as a libel. He’s a thick-skinned hound.”
“She once libelled twenty-three bishops, she and Hilda and Selby-Harrison between them.”
“After all,” said Titherington, “you can say pretty near anything you like at an election. Nobody minds. I think we’re pretty safe. I’ll see that anything she says at our meetings is kept out of the papers, and she won’t get the chance of making regular speeches at Vittie’s.”
I felt quite sorry for Titherington. The interview with Lalage had evidently been even more drastic than I expected.
“Perhaps,” I said soothingly, “they’ll give her six weeks for the Jun. Soph. Ord., whatever it is, and then the whole election will be over before she gets out.”
“We can’t allow that,” said Titherington. “It would be a downright scandal to subject a girl like that—why, she’s quite young and—and actually beautiful.”
“We must hope that the Puffin may prove, as she expects, to be a disguised lamb.”
“I wish I knew who he is. I might get at him.”
“It’s too late to do anything now,” I said, “but I’ll try and find out in the course of the morning. If I can’t, we’ll get it all in the evening papers. They’re sure to report a case of the sort pretty fully.”
I left Titherington and walked across toward the club. I met the Archdeacon in St. Stephen’s Green. I might, and under ordinary circumstances I should, have slipped past him without stopping, for I do not think he saw me. But I was anxious about Lalage and I thought it likely that he would have some news of her. I hailed him and shook hands warmly.
“Up for a holiday?” I asked.
“No,” said the Archdeacon. “I have eight meetings to attend to-day.”
“I mustn’t keep you then. How is everybody at home? Canon Beresford and Lalage quite well?”
“I saw Lalage Beresford this morning. I was passing through college on my way to one of my meetings and I saw her standing outside the big hall. She’s in her first junior sophister examination to-day.”
“Ord?” I said.
“What?”
“Ord?” I repeated. “You said Jun. Soph., didn’t you?”
“I said junior sophister.”
“Quite so, and it would be Ord., wouldn’t it?”
“It’s an ordinary, if that’s what you mean.”
“An ordinary,” I said, “is, I suppose, an examination of a commonplace kind.”
“It’s one that you must get through, not an honour examination.”
“I’m so glad I met you. You’ve relieved my mind immensely. I was afraid it might be an indictable offence. Without your help I should never have guessed!”
The Archdeacon looked at me suspiciously.
“I hope she’ll pass,” he said, “but I’m rather doubtful.”
“Oh, she’ll pass all right, she and Hilda. Selby-Harrison may possibly be stuck.”
“She’s very weak in astronomy.”
“Still,” I said, “the Puffin is a perfect lamb. I think we may count on that.”
The Archdeacon eyed me even more suspiciously than before. I could see that he thought I had been drinking heavily.
“Titherington told me that about the Puffin,” I said. “He wanted to bail her out. He’ll be just as glad as I am when he hears the truth.”
The Archdeacon held out his hand stiffly. I do not blame him in the least for wanting to get away from me. A church dignitary has to consider appearances, and it does not do to stand talking to an intoxicated man in a public street, especially early in the day.
“I think we may take it for granted,” I said, “that the Puffin is the man who sets the paper in astronomy.”
The Archdeacon left me abruptly, without shaking hands. I lit a cigarette and thought with pleasure of the careful and sympathetic way in which he would break the sad news of my failing to Lord Thormanby. When I reached the club I despatched four telegrams. The first was to Titherington.
“No further cause for anxiety. Jun. Soph. Ord. not a crime but a college examination. The Puffin probably the Astronomer Royal, but some uncertainty prevails on this point. Shall see lady this afternoon and complete arrangements.”
I knew that the last sentence would annoy Titherington. I put it in for that purpose. Titherington had wantonly annoyed me.
My other three telegrams were all to Lalage. I addressed one to the rooms of the Elizabethan Society, one to 175 Trinity College, which was, I recollected, the alternative address of theAnti-Tommy Rot Gazette, and one to Trinity Hall, where Lalage resided. In this way I hoped to make sure of catching her. I invited her, Hilda, and Selby-Harrison to take tea with me at five o’clock in my hotel. I supposed that by that time the Jun. Soph. Ord. would have run its course. I wished to emphasize the fact that I wanted Lalage to bring Selby-Harrison, whom I had never seen. I underlined his name; but the hall porter to whom I gave the telegram told me that the post-office regulations do not allow the underlining of words. If Titherington succeeds in making me a Member of Parliament, I shall ask the Postmaster-General some nasty questions on this point. It seems to me a vexatious limitation of the rights of the public.