w Mr.
Griffenbottom had sent them a man who would throw all the fat in the
fire by talking of purity of election! "And Moggs has been making a
fool of himself in another direction," said Trigger, thinking that
no opportunity for giving a valuable hint should be lost. "He's been
telling the working men already that they'll be scoundrels and knaves
if they take so much as a glass of beer without paying for it."

"Scoundrel is a strong word," said Sir Thomas, "but I like him for
that."

"Percycross won't like him. Men would rather have all that left to
their own feelings. They who want beer or money certainly won't thank
him; and they who don't want it don't like to be suspected."

"Every one will take it as addressed to his neighbour and not to
himself."

"We are very fond of our neighbours here, Sir Thomas, and that kind
of thing won't go down." This was on the evening of the candidate's
arrival, and the conversation was going on absolutely while Sir
Thomas was eating his dinner. He had asked Mr. Trigger to join him,
and Mr. Trigger had faintly alleged that he had dined at three; but
he soon so far changed his mind as to be able to express an opinion
that he could "pick a bit," and he did pick a bit. After which he
drank the best part of a bottle of port,--having assured Sir Thomas
that the port at the Percy Standard was a sort of wine that one
didn't get every day. And as he drank his port, he continued to pour
in lessons of wisdom. Sir Thomas employed his mind the while in
wondering when Mr. Trigger would go away, and forecasting whether
Mr. Trigger would desire to drink port wine at the Percy Standard
every evening during the process of canvassing. About nine o'clock
the waiter announced that a few gentlemen below desired to see Sir
Thomas. "Our friends," said Mr. Trigger. "Just put chairs, and bring
a couple of bottles of port, John. I'm glad they're come, Sir Thomas,
because it shows that they mean to take to you." Up they were shown,
Messrs. Spiveycomb, Spicer, Pile, Roodylands,--the bootmaker who
has not yet been named,--Pabsby, and seven or eight others. Sir
Thomas shook hands with them all. He observed that Mr. Trigger was
especially cordial in his treatment of Spicer, the mustard-maker,--as
to whose defection he had been so fearful in consequence of certain
power which Mr. Westmacott might have in the wholesale disposal of
mustard. "I hope you find yourself better," said Mr. Pile, opening
the conversation