e from inanition than over any
definite question of policy; and we were going to the country to face
what is paradoxically termed "the music." It would be a General Election
in every sense of the word, for there was no particular question of the
hour--this was before the days of Passive Resistance and Tariff
Reform--and our chief bar to success would undoubtedly be our old and
inveterate enemy, "the pendulum." Of course we were distributing
leaflets galore, and blazoning panegyrics on our own legislative
achievements over every hoarding in the country--especially where our
opponents had already posted up scathing denunciations of the same--and
of course we declared that we were going to come again, like King
Arthur; but I think most of us realised in our hearts that the great
British Public, having decided in its ponderous but not altogether
unreasonable way that any change of government must be for the better,
was now going to pull us down from the eminence to which we had been
precariously clinging for five years, and set up another row of
legislative Aunt Sallies in our stead.

However, we were far from admitting this. We wore our favours, waved our
hats, and celebrated our approaching triumph with as great an appearance
of optimism as the loss of seven consecutive by-elections would permit.

Our party--Kitty, Phillis, Dolly, and myself: Dilly and Dicky were to
follow, and Robin had preceded us by two days--was met at the station by
an informal but influential little deputation, consisting of Mr Cash, my
agent, a single-minded creature who would cheerfully have done his best
to get Mephistopheles returned as member if he had been officially
appointed to further that gentleman's interests; old Colonel Vincey, who
would as cheerfully have voted for the same candidate provided he wore
Conservative colours; Mr Bugsley, a leading linen-draper and ex-Mayor of
the town, vice-chairman of our local organisation; Mr Winch--locally
known as Beery Bill--the accredited mouthpiece of the Stoneleigh liquor
interest; and the Dean, who came, I was uncharitable enough to suspect
even as he wrung my hand, on business not unconnected with the
unfortunate deficit in the fund for the restoration of the North
Transept. There were also present one or two reporters, and a _posse_ of
the offscourings of Stoneleigh small-boydom.

We drove in state to the hotel. Previous to this I shook hands warmly
with the Station-master, who scowled at me-