In the middle of it they passed
Ferrier himself--flushed--with the puffy eyes of a man who never gets
more than a quarter allowance of sleep; his aspect, nevertheless,
smiling and defiant, and a crowd of friends round him. The wind blew
chill up the river, crisping the incoming tide; and the few ladies who
were being entertained at tea drew their furs about them, shivering.
"He'll _have_ to go to the Lords!--that's flat--if we win this election.
If we come back, the new members will never stand him; and if we
don't--well, I suppose, in that case, he does as well as anybody else."
The remarks were McEwart's. Lankester turned a sarcastic eye upon him.
"Don't you be unjust, my boy. Ferrier's one of the smartest
Parliamentary hands England has ever turned out"
At this Barton roused.
"What's the good of that?" he asked, with quiet ferocity, in his strong
Lancashire accent. "What does Ferrier's smartness matter to us? The
Labor men are sick of it! All he's asked to do is to run _straight!_--as
the party wants him to run."
"All right. _Ad leones!_ Ferrier to the Lords. I'm agreeable. Only I
don't know what Marsham will say to it.
Pages:
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417