“You find me in the deuce of a mess, Mr ——; by-the-by, you haven’t told me your

name. Twisdon? Any relation of old Tommy Twisdon of the Sixtieth? No? Well, you

see I’m Liberal Candidate for this part of the world, and I had a meeting on

tonight at Brattleburn—that’s my chief town, and an infernal Tory stronghold. I

had got the Colonial ex-Premier fellow, Crumpleton, coming to speak for me

tonight, and had the thing tremendously billed and the whole place

ground-baited. This afternoon I had a wire from the ruffian saying he had got

influenza at Blackpool, and here am I left to do the whole thing myself. I had

meant to speak for ten minutes and must now go on for forty, and, though I’ve

been racking my brains for three hours to think of something, I simply cannot

last the course. Now you’ve got to be a good chap and help me.

 

You’re a Free Trader and can tell our people what a wash-out Protection is in

the Colonies. All you fellows have the gift of the gab—I wish to Heaven I had

it. I’ll be for evermore in your debt.”

 

I had very few notions about Free Trade one way or the other, but I saw no other

chance to get what I wanted. My young gentleman was far too absorbed in his own

difficulties to think how odd it was to ask a stranger who had just missed death

by an ace and had lost a 1,000-guinea car to address a meeting for him on the

spur of the moment. But my necessities did not allow me to contemplate oddnesses

or to pick and choose my supports.

 

“All right,” I said. “I’m not much good as a speaker, but I’ll tell them a bit