It was at that point of his meditations that Mr Farquharson met Squire Ormiston on the steps of the Bank of British North America, an old-fashioned building with an appearance of dignity and probity, a look of having been founded long ago upon principles which raised it above fluctuation, exactly the place in which Mr Farquharson and Squire Ormiston might be expected to meet.  The two men, though politically opposed, were excellent friends; they greeted cordially.

“So you’re ordered out of politics, Farquharson?” said the squire.  “We’re all sorry for that, you know.”

“I’m afraid so; I’m afraid so.  Thanks for your letter—­very friendly of you, squire.  I don’t like it—­no use pretending I do—­but it seems I’ve got to take a rest if I want to be known as a going concern.”

“A fellow with so much influence in committee ought to have more control of his nerve centres,” Ormiston told him.  The squire belonged to that order of elderly gentlemen who will have their little joke.  “Well, have you and Bingham and Horace Williams made up your minds who’s to have the seat?”

Farquharson shook his head.  “I only know what I see in the papers,” he said.  “The Dominion is away out with Fawkes, and the Express is about as lukewarm with Carter as he is with federated trade.”

“Your Government won’t be obliged to you for Carter,” said Mr Ormiston; “a more slack-kneed, double-jointed scoundrel was never offered a commission in a respectable cause.  He’ll be the first to rat if things begin to look queer for this new policy of yours and Wallingham’s.”

“He hasn’t got it yet,” Farquharson admitted, “and he won’t with my good will.  So you’re with us for preference trade, Ormiston?”

“It’s a thing I’d like to see.  It’s a thing I’m sorry we’re not in a position to take up practically ourselves.  But you won’t get it, you know.  You’ll be defeated by the senior partner.  It’s too much of a doctrine for the people of England.  They’re listening to Wallingham just now because they admire him, but they won’t listen to you.  I doubt whether it will ever come to an issue over there.  This time next year Wallingham will be sucking his thumbs and thinking of something else.  No, it’s not a thing to worry about politically, for it won’t come through.”

The squire’s words suggested so much relief in that conviction that Farquharson, sharp on the flair of the experienced nose for waverers, looked at him observantly.

“I’m not so sure It’s a doctrine with a fine practical application for them as well as for us, if they can be got to see it, and they’re bound to see it in time.  It’s a thing I never expected to live to believe, never thought would be practicable until lately, but now I think there’s a very good chance of it.  And, hang it all,” he added, “it may be unreasonable, but the more I notice the Yankees making propositions to get us away from it, the more I want to see it come through.”