There was another outburst, and the poor gentleman gesticulated, if possible, more vehemently than before.

“I am not the def—­”

“Nobody would have supposed you were, sir, if you had not taken so much trouble to deny it.  The jury, however, will now judge of it.”

“I am a married man, sir.”

“So much the worse,” said I.

CHAPTER XXVII.

MY CANDIDATURE FOR BARNSTAPLE.

Although the House of Commons dislikes lawyers, constituencies love them.  The enterprising patriots of the long robe are everywhere sought after, provided they possess, with all their other qualifications, the one thing needful, and possessing which, all others may be dispensed with.

Barnstaple was no exception to the rule.  It had a character for conspicuous discernment, and, like the unseen eagle in the sky, could pick out at any distance the object of its desire.

Eminent, respectable, and rich must be the qualification of any candidate who sought its suffrages—­the last, at all events, being indispensable.

Up to this time I had not felt those patriotic yearnings which are manifested so early in the legal heart.  I was never a political adventurer; I had no eye on Parliament merely as a stepping-stone to a judgeship; and probably, but for the events I am about to describe, I should never have been heard of as a politician at all.  There were so many candidates in the profession to whom time was no object that I left this political hunting-ground entirely to them.

In 1865 I was waited upon at Westminster by a very influential deputation from the Barnstaple electors—­honest-looking electors as any candidate could wish to see—­bringing with them a requisition signed by almost innumerable independent electors, and stating that there were a great many more of the same respectable class who would have signed had time been permitted.  Further signatures were, however, to be forwarded.  It was urged by the deputation that I should make my appearance at Barnstaple at the earliest possible date, as no time was to be lost, and they were most anxious to hear my views, especially upon topics that they knew more about than I, which is generally the case, I am told, in most constituencies.  I asked when they thought I ought to put in an appearance.

“Within a week at latest,” said the leading spirit of the deputation.  “Within a week at latest,” repeated all the deputation in chorus.”  Because,” said the leading personage, “there is already a gentleman of the name of Cave” (it should have been pronounced as two syllables, so as to afford me some sort of warning of the danger I was confronting) “busily canvassing in all directions for the Liberal party, and Mr. Howell Gwynne and Sir George Stukely will be the Conservative candidates.  However, it would be a certain seat if I would do them the honour of coming forward.  There would be little trouble, and it would almost be a walk-over.”