our most pressing needs.
I ask you to consider how, previous to 1855, that pretty pair of
mandarins, Lord John Russell and Earl Grey, boggled and botched the
crucial question of unlocking the lands even yet, gentlemen, the result
of their muddling lies heavy on us. And the Land Question, though first
in importance, is but one, as you know, of many"--and here John,
playing on the tips of five wide-stretched fingers, counted them off.
He wound up with a flaming plea for the creation and protection of
purely national industries. "For what, I would ask you, is the true
meaning of democracy in a country such as ours? What is, for us, the
democratic principle? The answer, my friends, is conservatism; yes, I
repeat it--conservatism!" ... and thus to a final peroration.

In the braying and hurrahing that followed--the din was heightened by
some worthy mounting a barrel to move that "this yere Johnny Turnham"
was not a fit person to represent "the constitooency," by the barrel
being dragged from under him, and the speaker rolled in the mud; while
this went on Mahony stood silent, and he was still standing
meditatively pulling his whiskers when a sudden call for a doctor
reached his ear. He pushed his way to the front.

How the accident happened no one knew. John had descended from the
platform to a verandah, where countless hands were stretched out to
shake his. A pile of shutters was leaning against the wall, and in some
unexplained fashion these had fallen, striking John a blow that knocked
him down. When Mahony got to him he was on his feet again, wiping a
drop of blood from his left temple. He looked pale, but pooh-poohed
injury or the idea of interfering with his audience's design; and
Mahony saw him shouldered and borne off.

That evening there was a lengthy banquet, in which all the notables of
the place took part. Mahony's seat was some way off John's; he had to
lean forward, did he wish to see his brother-in-law.

Towards eleven o'clock, just as he was wondering if he could slip out
unobserved, a hand was laid on his arm. John stood behind him, white to
the lips. "Can I have a word with you upstairs?"

Here he confessed to a knife-like pain in his left side; the brunt of
the blow, it seemed, had met him slantways between rib and hip. A
cursory examination made Mahony look grave.

"You must come back with me, John, and let me see to you properly."

Having expressed the chief guest's regrets to the company, he orde