"Slide was a little 'eavy on you in the _Banner_ the other day,--eh,
Mr. Finn?--too 'eavy, as I told him."
"Mr. Slide can be just as heavy as he pleases, Bunce."
"That's in course. The press is free, thank God,--as yet. But it
wasn't any good rattling away at the Earl's little borough when it's
sure to go. Of course it'll go, Mr. Finn."
"I think it will."
"The whole seven on 'em. The 'ouse couldn't but do it. They tell me
it's all Mr. Mildmay's own work, sticking out for keeping on 'em.
He's very old, and so we'll forgive him. But he must go, Mr. Finn."
"We shall know all about that soon, Bunce."
"If you don't get another seat, Mr. Finn, I suppose we shall see you
back at the Inn. I hope we may. It's better than being member for
Loughton, Mr. Finn;--you may be sure of that." And then Mr. Bunce
passed on.
Mr. Turnbull carried his clause, and Loughton was doomed. Loughton
and the other six deadly sins were anathematized, exorcised, and
finally got rid of out of the world by the voices of the gentlemen
who had been proclaiming the beauty of such pleasant vices all their
lives, and who in their hearts hated all changes that tended towards
popular representation. But not the less was Mr. Mildmay beaten;
and, in accordance with the promise made by his first lieutenant
immediately after the vote was taken, the Prime Minister came forward
on the next evening and made his statement.
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