Lane. I know my way about the place,
Honeywood, as well as if it was my bed-room. And so I ought,
Trigger."

"I suppose you've seen the inside of pretty nearly every house in
Percycross," said Trigger.

"There's some I don't want to see the inside of any more. I can tell
you that. How are these new householders going to vote?"

"Betwixt and between, Mr. Griffenbottom."

"I never thought we should find much difference. It don't matter what
rent a man pays, but what he does. I could tell you how nineteen out
of twenty men here would vote, if you'd tell me what they did, and
who they were. What's to be done about talking to 'em?"

"To-morrow night we're to be in the Town Hall, Mr. Griffenbottom, and
Thursday an open-air meeting, with a balcony in the market-place."

"All right. Come along. Are you good at spinning yarns to them,
Honeywood?"

"I don't like it, if you mean that," said Sir Thomas.

"It's better than canvassing. By George, anything is better than
that. Come along. We may get Pump Lane, and Petticoat Yard, and
those back alleys done before dinner. You've got cards, of course,
Trigger." And the old, accustomed electioneerer led the way out to
his work.

Mr. Griffenbottom was a heavy hale man, over sixty, somewhat inclined
to be corpulent, with a red face, and a look of assured impudence
about him which nothing could quell or diminish. The kind of
life which he had led was one to which impudence was essentially
necessary. He had done nothing for the world to justify him in
assuming the airs of a great man,--but still he could assume them,
and many believed in him. He could boast neither birth, nor talent,
nor wit,--nor, indeed, wealth in the ordinary sense of the word.
Though he had worked hard all his life at the business to which he
belonged, he was a poorer man now than he had been thirty years ago.
It had all gone in procuring him a seat in Parliament. And he had so
much sense that he never complained. He had known what it was that he
wanted, and what it was that he must pay for it. He had paid for it,
and had got it, and was, in his fashion, contented. If he could only
have continued to have it without paying for it again, how great
would have been the blessing! But he was a man who knew that such
blessings were not to be expected. After the first feeling of disgust
was over on the receipt of Trigger's letter, he put his collar to
the work again, and was prepared to draw his purse,--intending,
o