FICTION.

New Zealand Mail, 21 February 1901, Page 7

FICTION.

. - - ——- ‘ -BY ROBBBT BAim.

TffE'SlL£|T PARLIAMENT

(Author of “The Mutable Many,” etc.) ■ [ALL RIGHTS BESERYE'U.I . SYNOPSIS OF IN ST Aj.jAi X i. ' V TO IST ■ The reader is introduced to a vraveL ling 'lecturer, Richard Stanford, who is sitting on the steps of HE van, smoking. He is a man about twenty-five years of age, with firm mouth and stubborn, jaw. To him comes a horseman—-the son ..<>t the owner of the euri-ounding land—who peremptorily orders him to move on, which, after a friendly conversation, he does;-’ 3 He stops again in a quiet hamlet, and lectures to the villagers. A beautiful lady, reclining in a boat on the edge of a. lake, is assailed by a rough tramp,, who, in /pursuit of money, is about to carry out his threats of violence, when Stanford is drawn to the spot by the ladyV cries for help, ami sends the tramp off. An interesting conversation ensues ' which is, however, terminated by the” tramp, who, with great strategy, had silently returned, and dealt Stanford a blow which sent bim into the water. He is rescued by some of Mrs Greenliow’s men, and carried "to . the Hall,; where . the doctor attends him. On regaining consciousness he finds the lady of the adventure by has side, and before he goes, holds a discussion with his hostess on the) subject of his life work. Although he hardly, convinces her of the feasibility of ms scheme of reformation, she is so impressed by his own genuineness that she offelre £IOO,OOO to finance the movement. This consists, in short, in the employment of a small army of men to attack the. constituencies at the next general election. The dissolution comes at an early date, bringing keen disappointment to Stanford, for not one of his nominees fis successful. Further efforts, however, on lines suggested by. Mrs Greenhov, bring into existence A bieW party in English politics, and every’ new election sees its growth in power, until Stanford is at last called to the premiership. Thau winter the distress'among the labouring classes is awfully severe, and a labour meeting in Trafalgar Square is charged by the soldiery with' what Stanford’s political opponents term unexampled cruelty. The Premier frankly outlines Ins policy, which naturally astounds the House and the country. Nothing likc it has been heard of before. Airs Greenhow seeks $n interview wth Stanford, who frankly states, what lie .proposes to do with the huge ' grant or £*’*' 000,000 which he has made the Koike qSs the benefit of the unemployed. The reader—not for fhe first time—-observes thel existence of a efivrent _of personal interest between the 'Premier and h s visitor.

CHAPTER XI. Stanford, as many, a man has . done before him, under-estimated the powers of thei Opposition. . lie did not leave Parliament on Tuesday, as he had inintended, in order to devote! himself to the cause of the unemployed,; because he was to learn something of Parliamentary tactics. As far as could be. judgedby the voice of j&e Press, England was divided between two. opinions- regarding Stanford, ■ some thinking him a knave, and others, a fool. No one seemed to give him credit for being an honest but misguided man. : The House of Lords made short work with the Unemployed Relief Rill. They threw it ont without- discussion, under the guidance of Lord Wolverman, and for the first time, within the memory of man the Lords were entirely unanimous. Perhaps it would have been wiser if they had discussed the hill exhaustively. This, it was known, had been proposed, but Lord Wolverman held that it would nierely be prclonging-a dangerous crisis, and he thought prompt action on the part of their Lordships would bring matters to a head. There* was a very,- full attendance at the House of Commons when the bill was returned. Everyone expected that Stanford would; use the bill for a sharp philippic on the 4 House of Lords, but in' this every one was mistaken. Stanford merely rose in bis. place and without a word of comment, , moved the passing of the Bill in identical terms to those used on the first ' Occasion. As a Bill could be rend; the first, second, •and third time, in .the one day, under the new law, it was evident, though he said nothing, that he had determined to push the Bill through its stages that afternoon. At the first division taken on the Bill, there was a surprise in store xor him. Birchall and Ford, two of his parley, deserted to the enemy and voted the Opposition. The announcement of the figures, by the tellers, was received with tumultuous cheering from the Opposition benches. When the uphad quieted down, Stanford made no sign, and his face was as impassive as ever. Everyone* knew that a defection of seven would defeat the. Government, arid everyone expected that Stanford would in soma way ,communicate with the deserters, but this, apparently, he had no intention, of doing. He simply rose and moved that the second reading! of the Bill should now take place. The

moment he returned his seat, Birchall rose and said lie wished tor explain to the House why he had found it impossible to vote again for the Unemployed Relief Bill, hut before he could proceed further, the Premier rose and said ; “I move, that the question be new put .'’ There were numerous outcries against the choking off of Birchall, who remained on his feet. His face became deadly pale, and it was noticeable to all that he was plainly afraid of his master. In spite of protests from the 1 Opposition bench Birchall was unheard, the division on the second place with the same result as on' the first reading. The third division was hurried through in a similar manner, and then, whatever might happen to Stanford’s majority, the Bill was law.. Birchall, bad made another ineffectual attempt at a personal explanation at the third reading, but was again suppressed by the closure.• Excitement ran high, and aged statesmen shook their white heads 1 , murmuring that the liberty cf Parliament was gone, if this sort of thing continued. When the Unemployed Belief Bill passed into Saw, Stanford rose, and moved- that the House adjourn for a month. This was strenuously opposed,, but again the c-lo-.surejs-crushed out opposition, and the llog'-e adjourned. Members hung about the lobbies like a iov of dismissed schoolboys, discussing excitedly rbe events of tne day. Stanford walked through and among them, followed by his two W T hips, and members unconsciously, made way for him. He looked neither to tire right nor the left, and made no salutations. His lips were firm set. and theire was a frown on his brow. When Stanford reached the seclusion of his owr. room he turned to the senior Whip and said : “Who can tell me all about Midloamshire ?” “Well, sir, i suppose Birchall can- as he represents the constituency.” "Quite so, but unfortunately I cannot avail myself of Mr ■■ Birchall’s information. Find out all you can about that constituency. What I mean is, find out what the constituency wants —what there has been a local agitation for lately. Get all particulars you can, and let me havd them as soon as possible.”

“I believe, sir, that the roads are very ; bad in that division, not the main roads, but the County /reads, and I think the chief reason, for Birehall’s success was the fact- that, he promised, if ha were returned, to get Parliament to move in the matter. It seems that thelocal land owners object to being taxed' heavier than they are, and of course, Birchall, not being a taxpayer himself, promised his constituency anything.” “Quite so,” said the Premier, “but I think we shall seie that Mr Birehall’s promises are kept. What was Birchall’s majority ?” “One hundred and forty, sir.” “Ah, not a very large number to come and go upon. Perhaps your colleague here will at once set about getting me the information I require regarding the constituency.” As the junior Whip left the room, a messenger came to say that Air Birchall and Air Ford wished to speak with the Premier. “Tell them to wait,” said Stanford. “I have not-.-time to see them now.”

Whence Premier and his senior Whip were left alone in the! room, Stanford took a bunch of ke\ T s from his pocket, and opened a safe which stood in a corner, selecting from it a sheaf of documents, from which be slipped a rubber band. The papers were alphabetically arranged, and coming to 8., Stanford took out one of the papers, and ran his eye over it. "“I think that is perferc-tly correct and legal,” he said, handing the paper to the Whip. “Just look over it, will you, and see if everything is in form.” The document in question was signed by Birchall, and was an application for the Chiltern Hundreds. The chief Vv hip, after carefully perusing'the paper, gave it as his opinion that everything aas in. proper form. “Very well,” said Stanford, “we will bestow the office of the Chiltern Hundreds upon Mr Birchall, but be very careful that you make no mistake in procedure, and hold over the. announcement of his application for the Chiltern Hundreds until I communicate, with you again- 4 ’ „. As he said this, Birchall came m, followed by Ford, who hung rather sheepishly in the background. , Stanford rose to his feet and looked sternly at. the intruders. . “See here, Mr Stanford,’ said Birchall, with an air of- bravado, “I’m not to be treated in this way, kept coolmg my heels outside the door when I have something particular to say to you. .1 want to see you, and I want to see you n °“Mr Birchall,” said Stanford calmly, “I am very busy at the present moment, and if you wish to see me you. must wait tilll I am at leisure/’ “I want to talk to you about a document you have, purporting to be signed by me,” said Birchall. “Excuse, me,” said the Premier, with a mildness that was in striking contrast to the truculence of Birchall, “I wll see you in half an hour’s time at tliei very latest. I will send a messenger for you the moment I am disengaged. In the meantime, I must ask you to withdraw from the room until I get my business finished.”

Birchall went reluctantly out, and Ford seemed to be relieved. at getting off so easily. The Premier called a messenger, and asked him to station himself at the door, and see that no one

entered without his permission, except the Whips. . As the Senior Whip left the room to attend to the 1 document bearing BirchalTs signature, the junior Whip came in with the particulars about Alidloamshire. The grievance was, as the other had said, about- roads. Having satisfied himself on that point by looking over the documents the Whip brought to him, Stanford wrote a hasty message. “There,” he said, “have that sent to Johnston, or perhaps you had better take it yourself. Tell Johnston I am _waiting hero for him, and ask Birchall to come here, not Ford and Birchall together. Tell Ford to wait a little longer/” When Birchall entered the Premier’s room he found his chief alone;. _ ‘ “Well, Air Birchall,” said Stanford, "what can I do for you ?” “I suppose you expect to be able tv> force me to resign,”, began /Bikehal!;--“I never use force except when it is strictly necessary,” replied the Premier. “Oh, then, that’s, all right,” returned Birchall somewhat relieved, "but you know that document I signed won’t stand law It was signed by me in ignorance, and if you expect to use it, I give you fair warning that I intend to repudiate i + /’ “Oh! I understood, Air Birchall, from a hint you dropped here-a little timet ago, that you were going to claim you did not sign it, and. I wanted to ask you who you imagined forged your signature?” “There is no necessity for talking about that, since you don’t to use it. If you had used it, as I have* said, I should have repudiated it. I don’t intend to resign/’ “I have no intention of resigning myself,’’ said Stanford, quietly. “I wanted to tell you why I voted against the Bill this afternoon,” said Birchall, uneasily. “Oh, thdre is no need to do thai /’ said Stanford. “I know perfectly -.veil' why you voted against the Bill.'” •‘Do you?” asked Birchall, eyeing *he Premier suspiciously, •“W hp was it, then?” “It was because yrror borpU- opinion changed. You ajr*d Ford 'iH-ve been meditating on the Bill Knee if was firstpassed through** the Commons, and yen came to the' bncUv-ion either that the Bill had been vu-hc-d cbru-igh without sufficient discussion. or eh--: you discovered something radically wrong with the Bill itself. Of course J cannot toll precisely what point it was wlnc-h caused yon to change your need, but I knew, whatever the detail was youn found it against your conviction to votel with me, and that, acco»•«•!)aglv', you voted with the Opposition.”

Birchall drummed uneasily on the table with the tip of his fingers, glancing up now. and then, with a look of disquietude on his face, at the Premier as he spoke“l am glad you look at the! matter so reasonably,” Birchall at length said.

"I feared you might have talpen other view’s. People are not invariably charitable, you know.” “I regret to say they are not,” replied Stanford. “The fact that we, as a party, are poor, coupled with the fact that our opponents are a. wealthy party, who honestly and firmly believe that any means they may take for upsetting us would he legitimate, might cause the> undiscriminating public to imagine chat you and Ford had tteen bought. This is, unfortunately, a. Censorious world, Birchall, and it is wrong that a 'pair of well-meaning young men, like you and Ford, should have your public careers blighted at the outsell, so I intend to do what I can to right you.”

“What do you intend to do?” asked Birchall.

Stanford looked up at the ceiling with wrinkled brow, as if in deep 'thought. At last he said :

: f T propose to let the public know that you and Ford have placed in my bauds documents asking for an appointment to the Chiltern Hundreds. When the^ public know this, they will understand that no two young men could he so foolish as to turn traitor'to a man who had it in his power to turn them out °t Parliament , and possibly to prevent ..pclieir re-election. I think when the public learns this they will see. at. once that you have not sold out your party, but that there has been merely a difference of opinion upon one point in the programme.”

“I will, vote with you on other points, of course#,” said Birchall. . ■ \ / ‘*Oh, I am not doubting that at a s l, but we cannot ignore the: fact that your vote this afternoon will cause a good deal of comment, and the sort of talk which is sure to' arisen—talk of dissension, and all that, should be put a stop to at the very outset. I am taking it for granted, yori know, that neither you nor Ford car.e to he branded as traitors to the cause.” “No, we don’t. If you like, I will write a letter to the papers explaining my vote, and saying I have placed my resignation in your hands.” “Well,” said Stanford, dreamily, “that is a matter for you and Ford to decide upon. It is a matter of personal conduct on which I would not care to venture an opinion I intend, myself, ’ to make public the fact that you have both placed at my disposal what is practically your resignations” “I think,” said Birchall, rising, “that we had better write a letter to the papers ourselves. I should like to place before the country .•the reason why we coulcl not vote for the Relief Bill. I thought that you might object to, our

giving a reason, and that is why I wislH ed to speak to you about it.” “Oh, not at all. I think mf harm can come from full explanations and dree; discussions, although I don’t believe very; much in Parliamentary debates,- as you know.. You have, as far as I am concerned, complete, liberty -To .speak, arid £/ have no desire to see. tne letter before itappears in print. You will excuse r ine' keeping ycu waiting, won’t you? You see lam very busy - carrying- out my scheme for employing the out-of-works. I have just sent an eminent engineer,with' whom I have had consultations before; on the matter, and we will take steps towards carrying out the affair tonight, so you seie I. have been unusually busy, for it is a-matter-that brooks ito delay. I had just sent for Johnston, the engineer I spoke; of, before, you cam© iff, and was only able to give you these ; few minutes.”"”' - -c-. -- • - ; -«■ .. y

“You are going to begin to’ApendMhe money at once, then?” asked Birchall. “Yes, to-morrow. Would you bey so

kind, as to-.make my excuses-to. AlrFqrdpas I won't -have time to see- him - tonight? You and I have thrashed c the matter out prelfcty thoroughly, so you will, perhaps, tell him to what coiiejur sion .w© have come.”. -i - ; “Very • well!” said Birchall, extending his iiancl,. but . Stanford was busy ranging his-papers, and only said “Good'night,”: without -taking the other’s curstretched hand...i-. « r

Birchall -sougnt Ford, and found him in the smoking room, in a far corner of which they einsconsed themselves. He told his friend that Stanford was not at all hasty about the matterand that -lie was' quite willing they snould write a letter giving the reasons for their votes, and that, if they said in. that letter that their -resignations were in the hands of the Premier at the time they cast their votes against the Bill, nobody would dare ever after to say they hact been bribed. Fci'd, who was a timorous young man; in ought- this was a very good solution indeed of tb© difficulty, so the two. set them-elves at writing tne letter, which appeared ru all the papers next mornlug. Morn while, Mr Johnston, the engineer, -came to the* Premiers room, the fatter locking the door after his visitor had seated himself.

“Now, Air Johnston,” said Stanford; sitting down opposite him, “in the talk we had before, about the unemployed, it seeoned to me that you were, rather a believer in my theories. I want to ask if you are!, or if you are not ?” “Will that make any difference to my superintending the work that you carry on?” asked Johnston carefully. “Yes, a good deal of difference. I like to have men around! me who believe in me. I have, profound beliefs myself, and one of them is, that if you want success in any department- of life, you must have a man who thoroughly believes in your schemes to .carry them c-ut.”

“Well, then,” said Johnston, “I will tell you frankly that I am with you in theory, but in practice I believe, your schemes are playing the very devil with business. The stagnation may be only temporary, I royself hope that it is, but you can’t get another man in the City to believe! that. I further think, Mr Stanford,, if you will forgive; pay*, frankness, that if you went-to the country tomorrow, you would not have a following of five at your hack whomyou returned.” ......

“ I quite agree with you, 4 ’ said Stanford, cordially, “and for that reason I have not the slightest intention of going to the country. Now, Mr Johnston, what are your politics?” “Again, I beg to ask, Mr ‘ Stanford,, what have my politics to do with my profession? If lam here: to be consulted professionally, I don’t see that my political opinions matter. I can give you the veiry best credentials as jto my engineering ability. Won’t that! be sufficient?” “No, it won’t, Mr Johnston; 1 I mustknow, and knew definitely, -what your uojitic-s .are.’”. / ■ A ; .

“Well, -I w’ill/tdil- you. My politics are .business.- T would turn.’ out a Tory, or aLiberal Government with equal indifference, so long as I could get in a Government that would; make business good in this country.” “You mean, of course, your own busi-

ness in particular ?” “Well, when business is good, every profession prospers, but of course ' I mean my own business in particular.” “ Yes,” said Stanford, thouhtfully. “I’m afraid,” continued ‘ Johnston, with a slightly sarcastic smile, “that a pure and upright politician like yourself may not approve of a man whose politics are so unsatisfactory, but nine out. of every ten business men think just as I - do.” ' , "t : .L ‘T am obliged to you for ycur frankness,” said Stanford, “and I like you!* polities. Would you care to take charge of the first detachment of the unemployed 1 ?” ■ ’ '* '■ /•</ “I think I am the man for you, if/ r l*.S~ salary is sufficient,” said Johnston, ‘ r anv|g I shall be obliged to you for giving Wr the chance: Times are very hard jrut now, I assure you.” . . . , “The salary,” said the Premier, “will be to your satisfaction. I take it that" you understand thoroughly the building of roads? The county of Midloamshixe is very much in need of good roads. Not the main highways, you understand, but the country rGads of the district. I want, if possible, to give a job to every unemployed man who is able to work; rh Midloam shire. Would that be possible?” “Quite/ 3 “Very good. I wish all the material

4 bought from local tradesmen. Hptever is necessary I wish to be supplied; by the county itself. In fact, I ■want to see, while conferring a lasting bebefit upon that county, good times for the district while the work is going on. Do you understand me?” “I think I do,” replied Johnston, with a twinkle in his eye. “Is there an election coming on shortly in Midloamshire ?”

“There is, very shortly.” “I see, and; The Corrupt Practices Act is to be avoided.” “Certainly I have no intention of corrupting the municipality, you know. 1 want to discover what can be done m. a county before I try the whole country, and I choose Midloamshire,” Johnston pushed back his bowler hat, and thoughtfully scratched his head for a moment. At last he said: '‘May I ask you a straight question, Mr Stanford ?” “Certanly.” ' “Is this large amount of money that was voted by Parliament this afternoon, as I see by the evening papers, to be a gigantic corruption fund ?” “No, it is not.”

“Well, do you realise that the Midloamshire experiment looks suspiciously like it? If that is the case, Mr Stanford, I am afraid I am not your man, much as I desire employment.” “Look hdre,” said Stanford, leaning eagerly across the table, “they are playing against nle with loaded dice. lam not going to have a fair chance. I see that, and I realise the seriousness of my position. This afternoon they bought two of my men, and those two have voted against me. The next time Parliament meets they will buy another live and I shall be thrown out, with the usual result that the monied classes will come ini. “ We will never again have another chance, at least not perhaps for centuries. I must light the devil with fire. I have no money with which to buy their men, and perhaps if I ha a their mein would not be purchasable. My fellows are nearly all young mein, and almost all of them poor. It. is an unfortunate thing that men can be bought. I would like to play a> square game but they have begun by cheating. I don’t ask you to do anything corrupt. I ask you to go down gs an engineer to Midloamshire, to engage, and* give work to all the unemployed in that county; ho procure your materials and implements within the county, and to give them the best roads that can bej had for the money, and to pay the best wages you can for the work done. That is all you have to do; the remainder I will attend to myself. The moment you have finished work in Midloamshire I have another county waiting for you. I don’t know at present just what that county neteds : it may be a canal, it may be a light railway, or it may be roads they have waited many years for. But whatever it is that county does need, which will employ a .number of people, able bodied men, at work they can do, that the -county is going to have.” '‘l suppose,’’ said Johnston, “the work will stop as 1 soon as the elections are over.” “The work will not stop,” said Stanford, bringing his fist down on the table, “until the roads of that county are completed. Whether that happens before or after the election, depetnds on how scon you do your work.” ‘‘Very well,” said Johnston, “I will undertake it.” '

(To be Continued.)