Such was Lewis’s reflections when he found Wratislaw waiting for him in the Etterick dogcart when he emerged from a meeting in Gledsmuir.  He had now enjoyed ten days of it, and he was heartily tired.  His throat was sore with much speaking, his mind was barren with thinking on the unthinkable, and his spirits were dashed with a bitter sense of futility.  He had honestly done his best.  So far his conscience was clear; but as he reviewed the past in detail, his best seemed a very shoddy compromise.  It was comfort to see the rugged face of Wratislaw again, though his greeting was tempered by mistrust.  The great man had refused to speak for him and left him to fight his own battles; moreover, he feared the judgment of the old warrior on his conduct of the fight.  He was acutely conscious of the joints in his armour, but he had hoped to have decently cloaked them from others.  When he heard the first words, “Well, Lewie, my son, you have been making a mess of it,” his heart sank.

“I am sorry,” he said.  “But how?”

“How?  Why, my dear chap, you have no grip.  You have let the thing get out of hand.  I heard your speech to-night.  It was excellent, very clever, a beautiful piece of work, but worse than useless for your purpose.  You forget the sort of man you are fighting.  Oh, I have been following the business carefully, and I felt bound to come down to keep you in order.  To begin with, you have left your own supporters in the place in a nice state of doubt.”

“How?”

“Why, because you have given them nothing to catch hold of.  They expected the ordinary Conservative confession of faith—­a rosy sketch of foreign affairs, and a little gentle Socialism, and the old rhetoric about Church and State.  Instead, they are put off with epigrams and excellent stories, and a few speculations as to the metaphysical basis of politics.  Believe me, Lewie, it is only the very general liking for your unworthy self which keeps them from going over in a body to Stocks.”  And Wratislaw lit a cigar and puffed furiously.

“Then you would have me deliver the usual insincere platitudes?” said Lewis dismally.

“I would have you do nothing of the kind.  I thought you understood my point of view.  A man like Stocks speaks his platitudes with vehemence because he believes in them whole-heartedly.  You have also your platitudes to get through with, not because you would stake your soul on your belief in them, but because they are as near as possible the inaccurate popular statement of your views, which is all that your constituents would understand, and you pander to the popular craving because it is honest enough in itself and is for you the stepping-stone to worthier work.”

Lewis shook his head dismally.