Mr. Slugby cleared his throat; then continued: 

“He will naturally be very much interested in the career and success of his nephew.”

“Oh, immensely!” replied Abel, in a thick voice, and with a look and tone which suggested to his friends that he was rapidly priming himself.  “Immensely, enormously!”

“Ah, yes,” said Mr. Slugby, with an air of curious meditation.  “I do not remember to have heard the character of his political proclivities mentioned.  But, of course, as the brother of Boniface Newt and the uncle of the Honorable Abel Newt”—­here Mr. Slugby bowed to that gentleman, who winked at him over the rim of his glass—­“he is naturally a friend of the people.”

“Yes,” returned Abel.

“I think you said he was very fond of you?” added Mr. Slugby, while his friends looked expectantly on.

“Fond?  It’s a clear case of apple of the eye,” answered Abel, chuckling.

“Very good,” said William Condor; “very good, indeed!  Capital!” laughed Belch; and whispered to his neighbor Condor, “In vino veritas.”

As they whispered, and smiled, and nodded together, Abel Newt glanced around the circle with sullen, fiery eyes.

“Uncle Lawrence is worth a million of dollars,” said he, carelessly.

The group of political gentlemen shook their heads in silent admiration.  They seemed to themselves to have struck a golden vein, and General Belch could not help inwardly complimenting himself upon his profound sagacity in having put forward a candidate who had a bachelor uncle who doated upon him, and who was worth a million.  He perceived at once his own increased importance in the Party.  To have displaced Watkins Bodley—­who was not only an uncertain party implement, but poor—­by an unhesitating young man of great ability and of enormous prospects, he knew was to have secured for himself whatever he chose to ask.  The fat nose reddened and glistened as if it would burst with triumph and joy.  General Arcularius Belch was satisfied.

“Of course,” said William Condor, “a man of Mr. Lawrence Newt’s experience and knowledge of the world is aware that there are certain necessary expenses attendant upon elections—­such as printing, rent, lighting, warming, posting, etc.—­”

“In fact, sundries,” said Abel, smiling with the black eyes.

“Yes, precisely; sundries,” answered Mr. Condor, “which sometimes swell to quite an inordinate figure.  Your uncle, I presume, Mr. Newt, would not be unwilling to contribute a certain share of the expense of your election; and indeed, now that you are so conspicuous a leader, he would probably expect to contribute handsomely to the current expenses of the Party.  Isn’t it so?”

“Of course,” said General Belch.

“Of course,” said Enos Slugby.

“Of course,” echoed the two or three other gentlemen who sat silently, assiduously smoking and drinking.

“Oh, clearly, of course,” answered Abel, still thickly, and in a tone by no means agreeable to his companions.  “What should you consider to be his fair share?”