‘We hope you’ll propose Lord Silverbridge now,’ said Mr Spurgeon.

’Oh; well;—­yes.  He’s his father’s son, and I never knew anything but good of the family.  I wish you were going to sit on the same side, my Lord.’

‘Times are changed a little, perhaps,’ said his Lordship.

‘The matter is not to be discussed now,’ said the old attorney.  ’I understand that.  Only I hope you’ll excuse me if I say that a man ought to get up very early in the morning if he means to see further into politics than your father.’

‘Very early indeed,’ said Mr Du Boung, shaking his head.

‘That’s all right,’ said Lord Silverbridge.

’I’ll propose you, my Lord.  I need not wish you success, because there is no one to stand against you.’

Then they went to Dr Tempest, who was also an old man.  ’Yes, my Lord, I shall be proud to second you,’ said the rector.  ’I didn’t think that I should ever do that to one of your name of Silverbridge.’

‘I hope you think I’ve made a change for the better,’ said the candidate.

’You’ve come over to my school of course, and I suppose I am bound to think that a change for the better.  Nevertheless I have a kind of idea that certain people ought to be Tories and that other certain people ought to be Whigs.  What does your father say about it?’

’My father wishes me to be in the House, and that he has not quarrelled with me you may know by the fact that had there been a contest he would have paid my expenses.’

’A father generally has to do that whether he approves of what his son is about or not,’ said the caustic old gentleman.

There was nothing else to be done.  They all went back to the hotel, and Mr Spurgeon with Mr Sprout and the landlord clerk drank a glass of sherry at the candidate’s expense, wishing him political long life and prosperity.  There was no one else whom it was thought necessary that the candidate should visit, and the next day he returned to town with the understanding that on the day appointed in the next week he should come back again to be elected.

And on the appointed day the two young men again went to Silverbridge, and after he had been declared duly elected, the new Member of Parliament made his first speech.  There was a meeting in the town-hall and many were assembled anxious to hear,—­not the lad’s opinions, for which the probably nobody cared much,—­but the tone of his voice and to see his manner.  Of what sort was the eldest son of the man of whom the neighbourhood had been so proud?  For the county was in truth proud of their Duke.  Of this son whom they had now made a Member of Parliament they at present only knew that he had been sent away from Oxford,—­not so very long ago,—­for painting the Dean’s house scarlet.  The speech was not very brilliant.  He told them that he was very much obliged to them for the honour they had done him.  Though he could not follow exactly his father’s political opinions,—­he would always have before his eyes his father’s honesty and independence.  He broke down two or three times and blushed, and repeated himself, and knocked his words a great deal too quickly one on top of another.  But it was taken very well, and was better than expected.  When it was over he wrote a line to the Duke.