Lespel says it is sailorlike to do something of this sort after a cruise.  Nevil’s Radicalism would have been clever anywhere out of Bevisham.  Of all boroughs!  Grancey Lespel knows it.  He and his family were Bevisham’s Whig M.P.’s before the day of Manchester.  In Bevisham an election is an arrangement made by Providence to square the accounts of the voters, and settle arrears.  They reckon up the health of their two members and the chances of an appeal to the country when they fix the rents and leases.  You have them pointed out to you in the street, with their figures attached to them like titles.  Mr. Tomkins, the twenty-pound man; an elector of uncommon purity.  I saw the ruffian yesterday.  He has an extra breadth to his hat.  He has never been known to listen to a member under L20, and is respected enormously—­like the lady of the Mythology, who was an intolerable Tartar of virtue, because her price was nothing less than a god, and money down.  Nevil will have to come down on Bevisham in the Jupiter style.  Bevisham is downright the dearest of boroughs—­“vaulting-boards,” as Stukely Culbrett calls them—­in the kingdom.  I assume we still say “kingdom.”

’He dashed into the Radical trap exactly two hours after landing.  I believe he was on his way to the Halketts at Mount Laurels.  A notorious old rascal revolutionist retired from his licenced business of slaughterer—­one of your gratis doctors—­met him on the high-road, and told him he was the man.  Up went Nevil’s enthusiasm like a bottle rid of the cork.  You will see a great deal about faith in the proclamation; “faith in the future,” and “my faith in you.”  When you become a Radical you have faith in any quantity, just as an alderman gets turtle soup.  It is your badge, like a livery-servant’s cockade or a corporal’s sleeve stripes—­your badge and your bellyful.  Calculations were gone through at the Liberal newspaper-office, old Nevil adding up hard, and he was informed that he was elected by something like a topping eight or nine hundred and some fractions.  I am sure that a fellow who can let himself be gulled by a pile of figures trumped up in a Radical newspaper-office must have great faith in the fractions.  Out came Nevil’s proclamation.

’I have not met him, and I would rather not.  I shall not pretend to offer you advice, for I have the habit of thinking your judgement can stand by itself.  We shall all find this affair a nuisance.  Nevil will pay through the nose.  We shall have the ridicule spattered on the family.  It would be a safer thing for him to invest his money on the Turf, and I shall advise his doing it if I come across him.

‘Perhaps the best course would be to telegraph for the marquise!’

This was from Cecil Baskelett.  He added a postscript: 

’Seriously, the “mad commander” has not an ace of a chance.  Grancey and I saw some Working Men (you have to write them in capitals, king and queen small); they were reading the Address on a board carried by a red-nosed man, and shrugging.  They are not such fools.