The Imperialist (25 page)

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.”

“I have very much the same feeling,” the squire acknowledged. “I’ve been turning the matter over a good deal since that last Conference showed which way the wind was blowing. And the fellows in your Government gave them a fine lead. But such a proposition was bound to come from your side. The whole political history of the country shows it. We’re pledged to take care of the damned industries.”

Farquharson smiled at the note of depression. “Well, we want a bigger market somewhere,” he said with detachment, “and it looks as if we could get it now Uncle Sam has had a fright. If the question comes to be fought out at the polls, I don’t see how your party could do better than go in for a wide scheme of reciprocity with the Americans – in raw products, of course, with a tariff to match theirs on manufactured goods. That would shut a pretty tight door on British connection though.”

“They’ll not get my vote if they do,” said the squire, thrusting his hands fiercely into his breeches pockets.

“As you say, it’s most important to put up a man who will show the constituency all the credit and benefit there is in it, anyhow,” Farquharson observed. “I’ve had a letter this morning,” he added, laughing, “from a fellow – one of the bosses, too – who wants us to nominate young Murchison.”

“The lawyer?”

“That’s the man. He’s too young, of course – not thirty. But he’s well known in the country districts; I don’t know a man of his age with a more useful service record. He’s got a lot of friends, and he’s come a good deal to the front lately through that inter-imperial communications business – we might do worse. And upon my word, we’re in such a hole –”

“Farquharson,” said old Squire Ormiston, the red creeping over features that had not lost in three generations the lines of the old breed, “I’ve voted in the Conservative interest for forty years, and my father before me. We were Whigs when we settled in Massachusetts, and Whigs when we pulled up stakes and came North rather than take up arms against the King; but it seemed decent to support the Government that gave us a chance again under the flag, and my grandfather changed his politics. Now, confound it! the flag seems to be with the Whigs again, for fighting purposes, anyhow; and I don’t seem to have any choice. I’ve been debating the thing for some time now, and your talk of making that fine young fellow your candidate settles it. If you can get your committee to accept young Murchison, you can count on my vote, and I don’t want to brag, but I think you can count on Moneida too, though it’s never sent in a Grit majority yet.”

The men were standing on the steps of the bank, and the crisp air of autumn brought them both an agreeable tingle of enterprise. Farquharson’s buggy was tied to the nearest maple.

“I’m going over to East Elgin to look at my brick-kilns,” he said. “Get in with me, will you?”

As they drove up Main Street they encountered Walter Winter, who looked after them with a deeply considering eye.

“Old Ormiston always had the Imperial bee in his bonnet,” said he.

A
lfred Hesketh was among the first to hear of Lorne’s nomination to represent the constituency of South Fox in the Dominion Parliament. The Milburns told him; it was Dora who actually made the communication. The occasion was high tea; Miss Milburn’s apprehension about Englishmen and late dinner had been dissipated in great amusement. Mr. Hesketh liked nothing better than high tea, liked nothing so much. He came often to the Milburns’ after Mrs. Milburn said she hoped he would, and pleased her extremely by the alacrity with which he accepted her first invitation to stay to what she described as their very simple and unconventional meal. Later he won her approval entirely by saying boldly that he hoped he was going to be allowed to stay. It was only in good English society, Mrs. Milburn declared, that you found such freedom and confidence; it reminded her of Mrs. Emmett’s saying that her sister-in-law in London was always at home to lunch. Mrs. Milburn considered a vague project of informing a select number of her acquaintances that she was always at home to high tea, but on reflection dismissed it, in case an inconvenient number should come at once. She
would never have gone into detail, but since a tin of sardines will only hold so many, I may say for her that it was the part of wisdom.

Mr. Hesketh, however, wore the safe and attractive aspect of a single exceptional instance; there were always sardines enough for him. It will be imagined what pleasure Mrs. Milburn and Miss Filkin took in his visits, how he propped up their standard of behaviour in all things unessential, which was too likely to be growing limp, so far from approved examples. I think it was a real aesthetic satisfaction; I know they would talk of it afterward for hours, with sighing comparisons of the “form” of the young men of Elgin, which they called beside Hesketh’s quite
outré
. It was a favourite word with Mrs. Milburn –
outré
. She used it like a lorgnette, and felt her familiarity with it a differentiating mark. Mr. Milburn, never so susceptible to delicate distinctions, looked upon the young Englishman with benevolent neutrality. Dora wished it to be understood that she reserved her opinion. He might be all that he seemed, and again he might not. Englishmen were so deep. They might have nice manners, but they didn’t always act up to them, so far as she had noticed. There was that Honourable Somebody, who was in jail even then for trying to borrow money under false pretences from the Governor-General. Lorne, when she expressed these views to him, reassured her, but she continued to maintain a guarded attitude upon Mr. Hesketh, to everybody except Mr. Hesketh himself.

It was Dora, as I have said, who imparted the news. Lorne had come over with it in the afternoon, still a little dazed and unbelieving in the face of his tremendous luck, helped by finding her so readily credulous to thinking it reasonably possible himself. He could not have done better than come to Dora for a correction of any undue exaltation that he might
have felt, however. She supplied it in ten minutes by reminding him of their wisdom in keeping the secret of their relations. His engagement to the daughter of a prominent Conservative would not indeed have told in his favour with his party, to say nothing of the anomaly of Mr. Milburn’s unyielding opposition to the new policy. “I never knew father so nearly bitter about anything,” Dora said, a statement which left her lover thoughtful, but undaunted.

“We’ll bring him round,” said Lorne, “when he sees that the British manufacturer can’t possibly get the better of men on the spot, who know to a nut the local requirements.”

To which she had responded, “Oh, Lorne, don’t begin
that
again,” and he had gone away hot-foot for the first step of preparation.

“It’s exactly what I should have expected,” said Hesketh, when she told him. “Murchison is the very man they want. He’s cut out for a political success. I saw that when he was in England.”

“You haven’t been very long in the country, Mr. Hesketh, or we shouldn’t hear you saying that,” said Mr. Milburn, amicably. “It’s a very remarkable thing with us, a political party putting forward so young a man. Now with you I expect a young fellow might get it on his rank or his wealth – your principle of non-payment of members confines your selection more or less. I don’t say you’re not right, but over here we do pay, you see, and it makes a lot of difference in the competition. It isn’t a greater honour, but it’s more sought for. I expect there’ll be a good many sore heads over this business.”

“It’s all the more creditable to Murchison,” said Hesketh.

“Of course it is – a great feather in his cap. Oh, I don’t say young Murchison isn’t a rising fellow, but it’s foolishness
for his party – I can’t think who is responsible for it. However, they’ve got a pretty foolish platform just now – they couldn’t win this seat on it with any man. A lesson will be good for them.”

“Father, don’t you think Lorne will get in?” asked Dora, in a tone of injury and slight resentment.

“Not by a handful,” said her father. “Mr. Walter Winter will represent South Fox in the next session of Parliament, if you ask my opinion.”

“But, father,” returned his daughter, with an outraged inflection, “you’ll vote for Lorne?”

A smile went round the table, discreetest in Mrs. Milburn.

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr. Milburn, “I’m afraid not. Sorry to disoblige, but principles are principles.”

Dora perceptibly pouted. Mrs. Milburn created a diversion with green-gage preserves. Under cover of it Hesketh asked, “Is he a great friend of yours?”

“One of my very greatest,” Dora replied. “I know he’ll expect father to vote for him. It makes it awfully embarrassing for me.”

“Oh, I fancy he’ll understand!” said Hesketh, easily. “Political convictions are serious things, you know. Friendship isn’t supposed to interfere with them. I wonder,” he went on, meditatively, “whether I could be of any use to Murchison. Now that I’ve made up my mind to stop till after Christmas I’ll be on hand for the fight. I’ve had some experience. I used to canvass now and then from Oxford; it was always a tremendous lark.”

“Oh, Mr. Hesketh,
do!
Really and truly he is one of my oldest friends, and I should love to see him get in. I know his sister, too. They’re a very clever family. Quite self-made, you know, but highly respected. Promise me you will.”

“I promise with pleasure. And I wish it were something it would give me more trouble to perform. I like Murchison,” said Hesketh.

All this transpiring while they were supposed to be eating green-gage preserves, and Mrs. Milburn and Miss Filkin endeavoured to engage the head of the house in the kind of easy allusion to affairs of the moment to which Mr. Hesketh would be accustomed as a form of conversation – the accident to the German Empress, the marriage of one of the Rothschilds. The ladies were compelled to supply most of the facts and all of the interest, but they kept up a gallant line of attack; and the young man, taking gratified possession of Dora’s eyes, was extremely obliged to them.

Hesketh lost no time in communicating his willingness to be of use to Murchison, and Lorne felt all his old friendliness rise up in him as he cordially accepted the offer. It was made with British heartiness, it was thoroughly meant. Lorne was half ashamed in his recognition of its quality. A certain aloofness had grown in him against his will since Hesketh had prolonged his stay in the town, difficult to justify, impossible to define. Hesketh as Hesketh was worthily admirable as ever, wholesome and agreeable, as well turned out by his conscience as he was by his tailor; it was Hesketh in his relation to his new environment that seemed vaguely to come short. This in spite of an enthusiasm which was genuine enough; he found plenty of things to like about the country. It was perhaps in some manifestation of sensitiveness that he failed; he had the adaptability of the pioneer among rugged conditions, but he could not mingle quite immediately with the essence of them; he did not perceive the
genius loci
. Lorne had been conscious of this as a kind of undefined grievance; now he specified it and put it down to Hesketh’s isolation among ways that were different
from the ways he knew. You were bound to notice that Hesketh as a stranger had his own point of view, his own training to retreat upon.