A walk-over was very nice, and the tantalizing hopes this deputation inspired me with overcame my great reluctance to enter the field of politics; and in that ill-advised moment I promised to allow myself to be nominated.

It was arranged that I should make my appearance by a specified afternoon train on a particular day in the week (apparently to be set apart as a public holiday), so that I had little time for preparation.  By the next day’s post I received a kind of official communication from “our committee,” stating that a very substantial deputation from the general body would have the honour to meet me at the station, and accompany me to the committee-rooms for the purpose of introduction.

Down, therefore, I went by the Great Western line, and in due time arrived at my destination, as I thought.

I found, instead of the “influential body of gentlemen” who were to have the honour of conducting me to the headquarters of the Liberal party, there was only a small portion of it, almost too insignificant to admit of counting.  But he was an important personage in uniform, and dressed somewhat like a commissionaire.

After much salutation and deferential hemming and stammering, he said I had better proceed to a little station only a few miles farther on and dine, “and if so be I’d do that, they would meet me in the evening.”

Not being a professional politician, nor greatly ambitious of its honours, I was somewhat disconcerted at such extraordinary conduct on the part of my committee, and would have returned to town, but that the train was going the wrong way, and by the time I reached the little station I had argued the matter out, as I thought.  It might be a measure of precaution, in a constituency so respectable as Barnstaple, to prevent the least suspicion of treating or corrupt influence.  Had I dined at Barnstaple it might have been suggested that some one dined with me or drank my health.  Whatever it was, the revelation was not yet.

I was to return “as soon as I had dined.”  Everything was to be ready for my reception.

All these instructions I obeyed with the greatest loyalty, and returned at an early hour in the evening.  But if I was disappointed at my first reception, how was I elated by the second!  All was made up for by good feeling and enthusiasm.  We were evidently all brothers fighting for the sacred cause, but what the cause was I had not been informed up to this time.

At the station was a local band of music waiting to receive me, and to strike up the inspiring air, “See the conquering hero comes;” but, unfortunately, the band consisted only of a drum, of such dimensions that I thought it must have been built for the occasion, and a clarionet.

Before the band struck up, however, I was greeted with such enthusiastic outbursts that they might have brought tears into the eyes of any one less firm than myself.  “Orkins for ever!” roared the multitude.  It almost stunned me.  Never could I have dreamt my popularity would be so great.  “Orkins for ever!” again and again they repeated, each volley, if possible, louder than before.  “Bravo, Orkins!  Let ’em ’ave it, Orkins! don’t spare ’em.”  I wish I had known what this meant.