J. M. is the best of good fellows, and for many years past, whenever any of our little circle had got into a scrape or trouble of any kind, it had been our invariable habit to apply to him to get us out of it—and we had never applied in vain. I thought I could not do better than go round to him now and state my difficulty.
Moon received me in the vestibule of that well-known establishment with his usual kindness; but immediately I made him acquainted with the nature of my business, he put his finger to his lips in a mysterious way.
“Hush! Jones, be cautious,—who told you about the Sloth? You must have been well-informed. It is perfectly true that he is the pivot on which the administration of public affairs in this country ultimately turns. Some fellows can speak, and some can act, but the Sloth is the man who is never wrong. You won’t catch him making speeches like Phaeton, or Towzer, or coming forward like Merryton, or Tarboy, to take the ostensible lead of a party. The Sloth would as soon think of being the prima ballerina in a ballet. The fact is, he’s the Manager. If you can get him to indorse you, you’re all right. Can I rely on your discretion? I think I can: then come with me up-stairs.”
With these words Moon led the way; but there was something mysterious in his gestures and demeanour which affected me in a strange manner, and inspired me with the feeling that M. and I were doing something wrong. We stole up-stairs like a pair of conspirators, and when we reached a lobby, out of which several doors opened, M. by a gesture indicated to me that I was to stand still whilst he himself stole over on tip-toe to a door, and, looking round to see that he was unobserved, opened it cautiously and peeped into this room. In a moment it was obvious that the occasion for mystery was over—for M. called to me in a loud and sonorous way:
“Jones, you may come on,” and then, sotto voce, “the Sloth is gone! I had thought to do you a good turn, but it can’t be helped.”
“But where is this mysterious individual now, Moon? Everybody must be somewhere. The Sloth, as you call him, must be somewhere.”
Moon looked at me with a pitying smile. “He may be dining with the Queen at Osborne. He may have started for Rio, as Brazilian politics are now at a hitch. He may be passing his judgment in private upon the new singer from Vienna. All I know is, that he was here half-an-hour ago, and nobody has seen him go out. This very afternoon he sat upon that sofa, and I conversed with him—but if you’re wise you will not ask any questions. In the Sloth’s own time you will see him, but not a moment before.”
Under the most tremendous promises of secrecy, M. then informed me, in a whisper, that the Sloth was no other than Mr. , the member for ***. It was he who kept the Forward-Backward party together, and but for his suggestions it was supposed that that inestimable and patriotic band—inclusive of the celebrated Back Parlour coterie—would speedily melt away into thin air. Certainly from the course of debate, one would never have supposed that a gentleman whose name was so seldom recorded as taking any share in the business of the House, and who never accepted office, could in reality be the primum mobile of the puppet-show. Moon, however, was unquestionably a better authority on the point than I could pretend to be—so if in the end I was to be an additional pawn on the Sloth’s chess-board, there was no help for it.
In the meanwhile M. was good enough to give me a line of introduction to Mr. Lobby, the well-known Parliamentary Agent in Whitehall Place—a gentleman who, as he informed me, had been more frequently the victim of misplaced confidence than any man of his day. Lobby was in point of fact a man of a sweet and trusting nature, and no amount of detected deception was sufficient to open the eyes of this amiable person. “I will trust on to the end,” he used to say to his intimates—“it would be better to die at once, than to live on in a state of permanent suspicion. The citizen of a free country such as this, who seeks for a seat in the House of Commons, gives primâ facie presumption of his patriotic spirit; and, therefore, of the purity of his character. I have not myself the requisite ability for public life, but I have an ardent admiration for its votaries. In my own little humble way I will assist intending statesmen in securing a position in that illustrious assembly which is their appropriate field for action.” Poor Lobby was indeed frequently deceived—and his name was mixed up with the wildest incidents of many strange electioneering stories, but he never would give up the names of his betrayers. “My confidence,” he would say upon these occasions, “has been violated again—but some day the world will do me justice—let us trust on!”
It was too late to do anything that day, but at least in Moon’s letter to Lobby I had something to show for my day’s work—a practical pledge of the energetic manner in which I was about to tread the Parliamentary career upon which I had just entered. There was nothing for it but to present myself in Whitehall Place at noon on the morrow—and meanwhile to return to Flora, and report progress.
The Hansom cab passed up the Edgware Road, and visions of future Parliamentary distinction flitted before my eyes. As we were rattling over the stones, and the omnibuses and various vehicles made a considerable noise, I could even venture to deliver myself of various scraps of oratory which were to be welded up into the future thunderbolt. It certainly was awkward when, upon one or two occasions, a stoppage occurred before I could check the flow of my fervid periods, and I was only brought to a sense of my real situation by the astonished looks of the spectators. At the top of Maida Hill we got upon a clearer road, and both the horse and myself could proceed more uninterruptedly with our respective tasks.
Somewhat before we reached the reservoir, the sweet balmy air of the country and the fragrance of the meadows seemed to pass into me in some strange way, and to drive out of my mind the ambitious thoughts with which my mind had lately been filled. How pleasant it was to bowl along between the green hedge-rows after all the noise, and dust, and turmoil of London. Was the