THE thoughts of Slippery Sam were after this fashion.
“H. means war with China. And he has already said in my private ear, ‘If you don’t do my bidding I shall have you out and put in somebody who will.’ Now I, Wilberforce Williams, who am quite frank with myself, though with nobody else, do not want war with China. It will be an unjust war. It will be an ill-timed war, because money is still pretty ‘tight,’ and war itself is still out of fashion. Moreover, it may lead ultimately—[Mr. Williams was a far-sighted man]—to trouble with Japan and possibly, I don’t say probably, to war with the United States. Nor do I think this Chinese business can ever be popular. Hartz says his newspapers and his cinemas shall make it popular. Well, it is only too true, that in that line he can do anything ... all the same ... this may be ... I don’t say it is ... the psychological moment for the much trodden worm to begin to turn.
“China might make a live issue to take to the country in the good old-fashioned way. A general election must come within three months. I’ve had the nous, thank God, to keep the old party machine in being. It needs overhauling and bringing up-to-date, but there is a certain amount of money in the party chest, and if I can get the right people in charge—alas, honest men are very shy of me!—it is just possible—don’t let us put it higher—that W. W. may catch the Colossus napping.”
Much beguiled was this venerable-looking, white-haired and ineffably cunning gentleman with the idea that was slowly coming to birth in his mind. No sooner had the member for Blackhampton sat down, which he did amid murmurs of ironical applause, after boring the House of Commons for a full hour, although posterity may be inclined to take a more lenient view of the performance, than the prime minister retired to his room. In that seclusion, he amused himself with a little quiet study of Whitaker. This young man, at the Stunt Election of 19—, although not taking quite so kindly to the Coupon as he might have done, had yet been returned for Blackhampton by a solid majority of four thousand odd.
“Well,” ruminated the prime minister, “Blackhampton is the metropolis of the midland counties and in those parts they are a shrewd, hard-headed folk. They have a knack of going pretty straight to the root of most matters. And they appear to have a good opinion of John Endor. It might do no harm to have a little preliminary try-out at Blackhampton, to learn the thickness of the ice and to gauge the temperature of the country.”
So grateful was the idea to the mind of Mr. Williams that as he went into the lobby in search of John Endor he smiled pleasantly at his thoughts. By a happy chance, almost the first man he met was the member for Blackhampton.
“My dear Mr. Endor,”—in the humane art of patting on the shoulder the younger generation Slippery Sam had no peer—“permit me, if I may—without impertinence—to congratulate you—to congratulate you most sincerely on a fine—a really fine—effort.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the member for Blackhampton. “It is very good of you.” Naïf young man, he could not withhold a little blush of pleasure! There was such a genuine ring in this voice of fatherly benevolence. Besides, to John Endor, anachronism as he was, the prime minister of England still meant something.
“Don’t let me be fulsome”—the well modulated voice of Mr. Williams could achieve real charm on these occasions—“but do you know whom you brought back to the mind of an old man? Mr. Gladstone. As I sat listening to you, my dear sir, I thought of the long ago—alas, how long ago it seemed!—when Mr. Gladstone brought in his Bill for Ireland. But, as I say, don’t let me be fulsome.”
John Endor was dumb before these praises.
“Your grandfather the Duke,” the prime minister flowed smoothly on, “was a little before my day. But he was a great man. His speeches in Another Place on the People’s Charter live in history. For a man of his time and class he was most enlightened. I am so glad for his sake that there is still among us one of his kin to bear the torch.”
John Endor was still dumb, but now he glowed with happiness.
“I wonder, Mr. Endor, if you can dine with us to-morrow at Number 10, just my wife and me? Nobody else, except perhaps, my daughter. But quite informal—just en famille. Afterwards over a cigar, we’ll have a little talk. Your fine speech ... it’s ... well, to-morrow evening, at eight.”