“Well, Finn, my boy,” said Laurence, shaking hands with the young member on board the steamer, “so you’ve made it all right at Loughshane.”  Then Phineas was beginning to tell all the story, the wonderful story, of George Morris and the Earl of Tulla,—­how the men of Loughshane had elected him without opposition; how he had been supported by Conservatives as well as Liberals;—­how unanimous Loughshane had been in electing him, Phineas Finn, as its representative.  But Mr. Fitzgibbon seemed to care very little about all this, and went so far as to declare that those things were accidents which fell out sometimes one way and sometimes another, and were altogether independent of any merit or demerit on the part of the candidate himself.  And it was marvellous and almost painful to Phineas that his friend Fitzgibbon should accept the fact of his membership with so little of congratulation,—­with absolutely no blowing of trumpets whatever.  Had he been elected a member of the municipal corporation of Loughshane, instead of its representative in the British Parliament, Laurence Fitzgibbon could not have made less fuss about it.  Phineas was disappointed, but he took the cue from his friend too quickly to show his disappointment.  And when, half an hour after their meeting, Fitzgibbon had to be reminded that his companion was not in the House during the last session, Phineas was able to make the remark as though he thought as little about the House as did the old-accustomed member himself.

“As far as I can see as yet,” said Fitzgibbon, “we are sure to have seventeen.”

“Seventeen?” said Phineas, not quite understanding the meaning of the number quoted.

“A majority of seventeen.  There are four Irish counties and three Scotch which haven’t returned as yet; but we know pretty well what they’ll do.  There’s a doubt about Tipperary, of course, but whichever gets in of the seven who are standing, it will be a vote on our side.  Now the Government can’t live against that.  The uphill strain is too much for them.”

“According to my idea, nothing can justify them in trying to live against a majority.”

“That’s gammon.  When the thing is so equal, anything is fair.  But you see they don’t like it.  Of course there are some among them as hungry as we are; and Dubby would give his toes and fingers to remain in.”  Dubby was the ordinary name by which, among friends and foes, Mr. Daubeny was known:  Mr. Daubeny, who at that time was the leader of the Conservative party in the House of Commons.  “But most of them,” continued Mr. Fitzgibbon, “prefer the other game, and if you don’t care about money, upon my word it’s the pleasanter game of the two.”

“But the country gets nothing done by a Tory Government.”

“As to that, it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other.  I never knew a government yet that wanted to do anything.  Give a government a real strong majority, as the Tories used to have half a century since, and as a matter of course it will do nothing.  Why should it?  Doing things, as you call it, is only bidding for power,—­for patronage and pay.”