CHAPTER XXVIIANOTHER TRIUMPH FOR FREE TRADE
Thingshad to go forward at Blackhampton in spite of the Ukase, and forward they went right merrily. The adoption of Philip was a fine stroke on the part of the Rags, because the Blackhampton Rovers had a following of about thirty thousand persons weekly, and one and all of these acclaimed it as quite the right policy. The famous inside right had had in his day—which was not so very far off either—only one superior in that responsible position, and he was Steve Bloomer. If the Rag candidate could only reproduce his form on a great occasion, he was bound to go straight to the top of the poll.
A general election was expected in the autumn. Philip and Mary spent August at Trouville in order to prepare for the fray. Philip trained on the sands, and Mary composed speeches while she listened to the seductive strains of Monsieur Marly’s Marine Orchestra. And then, when this delightful month was over, they went to Blackhampton in fighting trim; hired a house for three months on its outskirts, and set to work in grim earnest.
In a very short time they were the two most popular people in this rather unalluring city. It was democratic to the core; and the fact that the Rag candidate was the son of Mr. Vandeleur’s very last creation was made a cardinal point by his opponents. But, as the candidate said with simple pathos at every meeting—Gentlemen, it is not fair to hold me responsible for my father. No man ought to be held responsible for his father. I am doing my level best to live down my father, gentlemen, and in so doing I look confidently for the support of every follower of the Rovers in this room, for they, I know, are good sportsmen.
Whereupon the good sportsmen in question invariably roared themselves hoarse.
And then the Candidate would proceed: Gentlemen, I am not much use at a speech. But I’ll just say this. I hope we shall beat the Villa on Saturday. (Uproar.) It won’t be for want of trying, anyhow. (Uproar.) And if we do manage to beat ’em, and I think we shall—(cries of “Good lad!”)—I hope you will be kind enough to forgive my oratory (cries of “Rather!” and loud cheering).
And now, gentlemen, I am going to ask my wife, who is a far better speaker than I am, to say a few words. There is no need for me to make you known to one another, because she tells me you are all oldfriends of hers. (Loud cheers, and cries of “Sing us a song, Mary!”)
Mary, looking like a picture-postcard, would then sit down to the piano, which with great foresight had been provided by the Executive Committee, and proceed to sing that famous ballad fromIolantheabout good Queen Bess’s glorious days when the House of Lords did nothing in particular, and did it very well. That was pretty well for a beginning; and the audience would be so delighted with this effort that she was not allowed to get to her speech until she had sung all the old favorites that had made her so famous. And then, when she had sung all her songs, the Chairman, Mr. Alderman Slocock, would interpose and say that it was really not fair to insist on her making a speech, because if they did she might have no voice left the following evening for the great meeting at the Corn Exchange. And this course having been commended by the meeting as a rare example of political foresight, the proceedings terminated with the usual vote of confidence, in which there was not a single dissentient voice.
Aston Villa were beaten handsomely on the following Saturday; and, although the Candidate only managed to kick one goal, he showed so much of his old form that it was clear already that another striking blow had been delivered against the House of Lords. In fact,that tottering institution had not a look in, really. Its meetings were very tame affairs by comparison, even if the standard of speech-making was thought by some people to be higher. But little or no interest was taken in them; while at those of the unfilial young man, who was going to take away his father’s Veto, there wasn’t even standing room an hour before the proceedings began.
Undoubtedly it was going to be a signal triumph for the People’s Cause. The Candidate combined so well with the rest of the Rovers’ forwards that the Wolverhampton Wanderers were beaten on their own ground, and Manchester City were simply annihilated. “Deeds not Words” flamed forth in the Rag colors, a vivid orange, from every hoarding. If the Candidate only kept up his form, said those who knew (and there was a surprising amount of omniscience in Blackhampton just now), the Rovers were bound to win the Cup and Mr. Balsquith would make him Home Secretary immediately.
In spite of all the adulation he received, the Candidate remained very simple and modest about it all. Even after he had scored two goals against Sheffield Wednesday, he never attempted any particular flight of oratory. The Missus could do all that so much better. No doubt she could have done, but South-West Blackhampton was far too wise in its day and generation togive her the chance. Let her attend to the piano. That, in the opinion of South-West Blackhampton, was so much more important.
The dissolution of Parliament occurred in the middle of November. A crowded and glorious fortnight followed. Notts Forest were beaten; a draw was made with Sunderland; and on the very eve of the poll Tottenham Hotspur received a most crushing reverse.
For the second time in its ignoble history, Protection was not only dead but damned.
It was all over bar the shouting, even before the fateful day had dawned. The Flag-Waggers could hardly raise a waggle; the sitting member realized already that he had lost his seat. Blackhampton went solidly for the Rags, and the best inside right in England—never mind Steve Bloomer!—was hoisted with a noble majority to the top of the poll.
Unparalleled scenes were enacted in Market Square. The horses were taken out of the New Member’s carriage, and he and his charming wife were drawn in triumph through the principal streets.
A deputation with Alderman Slocock at its head waited on the New Member at his committee room the morning after the declaration of the poll. The Rovers hoped in all humility that their famous inside right would not desert them now.
Desert the Rovers! Nothing was further from theNew Member’s intention. Certainly he would play for them for the rest of the season if only they were good enough to choose him. And the deputation withdrew, after further congratulations upon his deserved success, and having further acclaimed him as a true sportsman.
Some members of Parliament might have been rather bored by having to play every week for the Blackhampton Rovers, but that was not the case with Philip. He had renewed his youth; never in his life had he more thoroughly enjoyed this manly game. Besides, he had all Blackhampton for his friends. He was a really great man in Blackhampton, and even self-effacing people like to know that places exist where their merits are appreciated.
Nevertheless, when the news reached Grosvenor Square that the Rags had gained a seat at Blackhampton, and that the turnover of votes had been tremendous, surprise was mingled with consternation.
“It wasn’t as if the fellow had any brains,” said Father to everybody.
Mother, however, informed the world privately that she always thought dear Phil-ipp had been underrated by his father. It was very wrong, of course, to stand as a Rag, but no young man wholly devoid of ability could possibly have gained a seat like South-West Blackhampton with such an enormous majority.
Still, Grosvenor Square was quite at a loss to understand it. But one thing was clear. The breach was widened by this painful incident; at least, Father, in his blindness, thought so. Had failure been the portion of this wicked revolt, forgiveness would have been easier. Its dazzling success seemed to put forgiveness out of the question.
Mother, perhaps, was inclined to weaken a bit. After all, did it really matter so much? And was it not better than leading an idle and useless life? However misplaced the ambition, surely it was an evidence of that dormant ability, which in her heart she had always known to be there, since her family was never without it.
Father, however, was adamant. It was an open flout. Moreover, it had rendered him ridiculous in the Inner Circle, which, however, so far from viewing the matter with exaggerated grief was rather inclined to see in it a joke of a high order. Why this should have been the case Father had no means of knowing. To one of his own staunch principles it was certainly no laughing matter.
As time passed, the maternal heart of Mother was disposed to relent, but Father, alas! would not hear of compromise. He felt too keenly this double act of filial disloyalty. It was rather absurd to view thingsin this light, said the friends of both parties, but the Proconsul was adamant.
He went his way, and Philip and Mary went theirs. In spite of their wrong-doing the guilty pair contrived to be extremely happy in the little nest at Knightsbridge. But Father, alas! grew exceedingly miserable.
Even Mother had come to agree with the world, that Father was not behaving with his usual wisdom. Mrs. Philip was really less Bohemian than Mother had feared, in spite of the incident of the potato. If she were duly encouraged, she might have the makings of a good wife.
Indeed, by the time the Guilty Pair had been married a little more than a year, Mrs. Philip certainly fulfilled one of the important duties incident to the degree in life to which it had pleased Providence to call her. As a matter of fact, she overdid it a little, in the opinion of persons qualified to speak with authority. She presented Philip with Twins.
Alas! even when the glad news was borne to Father, he remained firm in his attitude. He still played the part of Achilles sulking in his tent, although it was openly said by all right-minded people that such conduct was entirely unworthy of a great Proconsul.
One thing was clear, however, now that this joyfulevent had occurred. The little nest in Knightsbridge was no longer adequate. A move was therefore made to a more commodious abode in Pont Street.
Philip was almost ridiculously proud to be a father. He went up and down the metropolis in a way that must have been intolerable to those who do not love the human race. He had “had his leg pulled” pretty severely over his return for South-West Blackhampton, but that was nothing in comparison with what he had now to endure.
“What are you going to call ’em, Shel, old boy?” was the greeting of all and sundry.
Two lusty men they were, whose lungs thus early in life did infinite credit to both parents.
To the credit of Mother, be it said, the Twins proved altogether too much for her. She hauled down her flag completely, and even went to the length of consenting to meet the goddaughter of Edward Bean in consultation. There had been faults on both sides, perhaps. Still, the goddaughter of Edward Bean, whose eyesight, to be sure, was not what it used to be, was only able to see faults on one side.
Nevertheless, the lion lay down with the lamb; and Mother herself took charge of the removal to Pont Street. Moreover, she even went to the length of choosing a desirable residence; and insisted on furnishing it in part with a dole from the privy purse. Yet,while Mother was behaving in this rational and sensible manner and was thus laying up a store of happiness for herself, Father declined to be comforted, and every day made himself more unhappy.
Tragedy began to hover around the pillows of the great Proconsul. His appetite declined; his clothes no longer fitted him; no longer did he seem to care about public business as of yore. Instead of the succession being doubly secure, the Family might have been threatened with extinction.