It was the hour of the afternoon when the host of the "Red Lion" sat at
the receipt of news and custom, smoking his pipe after dinner in the
shade of an old elm tree by his own door. He was a burly man, with a
becoming sense of his importance and weight in the world, and as honest
a desire to do his share in mending it as his betters. He was not to be
bought by any of the usual methods of electioneering sale and barter,
but he had a soft place in his heart that Mr. John Short knew of, and
was not therefore to be relinquished as altogether invulnerable.
Mr. Cecil Burleigh could not affect the jocose and familiar, but perhaps
his plain way of address was a higher compliment to the publican's
understanding. "Is it true, Buller, that you balance about voting again
for Bradley? Think of it, and see if you cannot return to the old flag,"
was all he said.
"Sir, I mean to think of it," replied Buller with equal directness. "I'm
pleased with what I hear of you, and I like a gentleman, but Bradley
explains his puzzling conduct very plausibly: it is no use being
factious and hindering business in the House, as he says. And it can't
be denied that there's Tory members in the House as factious as any of
them pestilent Radical chaps that get up strikes out of doors. I'm not
saying that you would be one of them, sir."
"I hope not. For no party considerations would I hinder any advance or
reform that I believe to be for the good of the country.
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