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 who was thrust aside, his fidelity and devotion availing him nothing, directly a more eligible opportunity offered itself. That would be sweet indeed! Yes, his mind was made up; he would use all his energies for the prosecution of the scheme; it should be war to the knife between him and Marian Creswell.

Joyce's manner was so thorough and so hearty, his remarks were so practical, and his spirits so high, when he called on Messrs. Potter and Fyfe on the next day, that those gentlemen were far better pleased with him, and far more sanguine of his popularity and consequent success at Brocksopp, than they had been after the first interview. Modesty and self-depreciation were qualities very seldom seen, and very little esteemed, in the parliamentary agents' offices in Abingdon-street. The opinion of the head of the firm was that Walter wanted "go," and it was only owing to the strenuous interposition of Mr. Harrington, who knew Joyce's writings, and had more than once heard him speak in public, that they did not openly bemoan their choice and proceed to look out for somebody else. This, however, they did not do; neither did they mention their doubts to the deputation from Brocksopp, the members of which did not, indeed, give them time to do so, had they been so inclined, clearing out so soon as the interview was over, and making back to the Tavistock Hotel, in Covent Garden, there to eat enormous dinners, and thence to sally forth for the enjoyment of those festivities in which our provincials so much delight, and the reminiscences of which serve for discussion months afterwards. The parliamentary agents were very glad of their reticence the next day. The young man's heartiness and high spirits seemed contagious; the sound of laughter, a phenomenon in Abingdon-street, was heard by Mr. Harrington to issue from "the governors' room;" and old Mr. Potter forgot so far the staid dignity of a chapel-deacon as to clap Walter Joyce on the back, and wish him luck. Joyce was going down on his first canvass to Brocksopp by himself; he would not take any one with him, not even Mr. Harrington; he was much obliged to them; he knew something of Mr. South, the local Liberal agent (he laughed inwardly as he said this, remembering how he used to look upon Mr. South as a tremendous gun), and he had no doubt they would get on very well together.

"You know South, Mr. Joyce?" said Mr. Fyfe, "what a very curious thing! I should have thought that old South's celebrity was entirely local, or at all events confined to the county."

"Doubtless it is," replied Joyce; "but then you know I"

"Ah! I forgot," interrupted Mr. Fyfe. "You have some relations with the place. Yes, yes, I heard! By the way, then, I suppose you know your opponent, Mr. Kerswill—Creswell—what's his name?"

"Oh yes, I remember Mr. Creswell perfectly; but he never saw much of me, and I should scarcely think would recollect me!"

"Ah! you'll excuse me, my dear sir," Mr. Fyfe added, after a short pause; "but of course there's no necessity to impress upon you the importance of courtesy towards your opponent—I mean Kerswill. You're certain to meet on the hustings, and most probably, in a swellish place like Brocksopp, you'll be constantly running across each other in the streets while you're on your canvass. Then, courtesy, my dear sir, before everything else!"

"You need not be afraid, Mr. Fyfe," said Joyce, smiling; "I shall be perfectly courteous to Mr. Creswell!"

"Of course you will, my dear sir, of course you will! Musn't think it odd in me to suggest it—part of my business to point these things out when I'm coaching a candidate, and necessary too, deuced necessary sometimes, though you wouldn't think it. Less than six months ago, when poor Wiggington was lost in his yacht in the Mediterranean—you remember?—we sent down a man to stand for his borough. Lord. No! I won't tell you his name; but the eldest son of an earl. The other side sent down a man too—a brewer, or a maltster, or something of that kind, but a deucedly gentlemanly fellow. They met on their canvass, these two, just as you and Kerswill might, and this man, like a gentleman, took off his hat. What did our man do? Stopped still, stuck his glass in his eye, and stared, never bowed, never moved—give you my word! Had to withdraw at once; his committee stood by and saw it, and wouldn't act for him any more! 'Lordship be damned!' that's what they said. Strong language, but that's what they said—give you my word! Had to withdraw him, too late to find another man, so our people lost the seat!"

The first thing that astonished Joyce on his arrival at Brocksopp was the sight of his own name printed in large letters on