The Man Who Rose Again

"You are abstemious to-night, Leicester," said Purvis.

"Indeed!"

"Yes, after all, you are not willing for her to know all the truth."

Leicester did not reply.

"Surely you are not going on with this business?"

"Else why am I here?"

"But you are to let her know your character in full."

"No man's character is known in full."

"But – but – "

"Look here, Purvis, I shall play the game. See that you do," and he gave the young man a glance which made him slightly uncomfortable.

"Of course – of course," he said nervously. "I don't like it. Still, there's no danger – that is, there will not be when she knows everything."

"Which you will see to."

"I shall tell her nothing of our conversation; as for the rest – well, there will be no need for me to tell her that."

Leicester gave the other a look which was almost angry.

"No," he said, "I daresay you are right. A man's so-called vices soon become public property. Of course," he went on, "you will talk with her about me."

"Why should I?"

"Oh, you will. You will let her know all the world says, and a little more."

"I say, Leicester."

"Oh, don't grow indignant, my dear fellow. I know the worth of your indignation; besides, I only wanted to tell you that you are quite at liberty to say what you like."

"You mean that?"

"Oh, certainly. Of course the wager is a secret. As for the rest, I authorise you to give your imagination full scope. I say, Purvis, I imagine Mr. Castlemaine and Mr. Lowry wish to talk with me about a private matter. I'm sure you don't mind, do you? and Miss Castlemaine will be lonely. I'm not in the least jealous, my dear fellow."

Mr. Castlemaine was much impressed with the way Leicester stated the affair which Mr. Lowry wished to bring before him. Everything was so carefully thought out, and so clearly expressed, that the man who was accustomed to deal with vast business enterprises was simply delighted. As he declared afterwards, it was quite an intellectual treat to talk with such a man. Besides, he made the conversation so interesting by introducing matters which appealed to John Castlemaine's tastes, that he felt like insisting on him staying the night. As a rule, whenever he talked of business matters in his own house, which was very seldom, he got through it as quickly as possible. But to-night all was different. When the business conversation came to an end, he still continued to talk.

"By the way," he remarked when Leicester had said something which more than ordinarily amused him, "my daughter ought to hear that, and we might as well go into the drawing-room. You've finished your cigar, haven't you?"

Leicester threw his cigar-end into the grate, and having finished his whisky, he followed his host.

They found Purvis eagerly talking with Miss Castlemaine, and Leicester knew the moment he entered that he had been the subject of their conversation. She gave him a quick, searching glance, as if she could scarcely believe what Purvis had been telling her. The look made him angry. He had told Purvis that he was at liberty to make known his character, and yet he keenly resented his communication. There had been times when he had taken pleasure in his peculiar reputation; but to-day everything seemed different. Still Leicester was not a man who shrunk from a difficult situation; indeed, he presently found himself possessed with a sort of savage joy, as he found himself uttering sentiments which had become commonplaces to men of his way of thinking. Moreover, he seemed desirous of showing Purvis that he did not desire to hide from Miss Castlemaine the kind of man he really was.

"I hear you are making great progress in your constituency down in Devonshire, Leicester," said Purvis.

"Oh yes, we are enjoying ourselves hugely down there," was the reply.

"For my own part, I do not find it fun to nurse a constituency," said Purvis.

"That's because you do not look on the humorous side of the question," replied Leicester. "When one regards the whole business in the same light as that in which a boy plays a game of marbles, it is great fun."

"I cannot think of the Government of my country in that light," said Purvis loftily.

"No," said Leicester quietly; "well, tastes differ. Politics are just what you make them, comedy or serious drama. And I prefer comedy."

"Thus it too often becomes a fiasco. A man becomes a member of Parliament for the good of his country. He sacrifices his time and money for the welfare of his fellow-creatures. At least he should. I know of no higher calling than to be a legislator in one's own land. It is not fun, it is duty."

"The greatest comedy I know of," said Leicester, "is the pretence to be serious. I never laugh so immoderately as I do at so-called serious drama. One can so easily see the make-up of the whole business. The passion, the pathos, the high moral sentiment, the remorse, it is all got up for the occasion – and it is great fun."

"But politics are different from the drama."

"Are they? I have never had much to do with the dramatic world, but I am told that managers run theatres to make money for themselves by amusing the spectators. When comedy fails, they try tragedy. Politics are pretty much the same. Politicians put pieces on the stage to amuse the spectators, and there-by benefit themselves. When they fail to obtain the support of the audience – well, they are kicked off the stage and another set of actors put on."

"Only in politics the actors don't make money."

"No," said Leicester quietly, "they don't, at least not many. But they are inspired by the same motive as the actor is."

"And that?"

"Self, my dear fellow, self. The bonâ fide actor is generally poor, and he seeks money and popularity. The politician does not always want money, but he wants fame. He wants to lift his head above the crowd, he wants to be mentioned in the newspapers, he wants to be singled out as he passes along the stage of life. Does the actor care a fig about the welfare of the spectators? All he wants is their money and their applause. Does the politician care a fig about the welfare of the voter? Still, it's great fun."

"Come, come, Mr. Leicester," said Mr. Lowry, "it wouldn't do for the people down at Taviton to hear you say such things."

"Exactly," said Leicester; "the people like to be fooled. Therefore the best thing is to fool them. Besides, is it not all a part of one great show? We are puppets on the stage of life, and we have to play our part. And each plays it with his eye on the audience."

"Personally," said Purvis, "I should not spend time and money for such a purpose. I know it may sound like boasting; but I would give up politics to-morrow but for the good of my country."

"Some time ago," said Leicester mockingly, "I was invited to speak at a political meeting, to assist the candidature of a young politician, who is supposed to be filled with very noble sentiments. I went and listened to this young politician. During his speech a man interrupted. The speaker tried to answer him, and failed. The man continued his interruption. At last some one shouted, 'Don't trouble about him, he hasn't got a vote.' Immediately this young, high-souled politician said, 'I came to speak to electors, not to men who have no vote, and therefore no stake in the country.' Exactly. But think a moment. Who was this interrupter? He was a man with a life to live. He had his burdens to bear and his battles to fight. But he was not a voter, he could not help to send him to Parliament, therefore – " and Leicester shrugged his shoulders.

During this speech Purvis looked more and more angry. The blood mounted to his face and he shifted in his seat. Moreover, he saw that the eyes of the others were upon him, which did not add to his comfort.

"Yes, it's great fun," went on Leicester, "this acting on the great stage of life while the audience cheers or groans, as the case may be. But as to motives – well, let them pass."

"But, Mr. Leicester," said Olive, who had keenly enjoyed the conversation, partly because she was not sure whether Leicester was serious or only joking, "are you not forgetting that there are conscientious artists? Are there not artists who live for their art and care nothing about praise or blame?"

"Is not that another form of selfishness?" remarked Leicester.

"But surely, Leicester," said Purvis, "you do not mean that you confess to these sordid motives; – that you regard politics as only a game to play, in order to win applause? Do you mean to say that you are no better than the crowd you describe?"

"My dear fellow, I am a great deal better, for the simple truth that I am honest. I don't profess to having these high sentiments which some boast of."

"The last time I heard you speak," said Purvis, "you spoke in no measured terms of the present Government. You declared it to be the bounden duty of the country to thrust it from power. Why did you say this if one party is as good as another, and all men uniformly selfish?"