Part 83 (1/2)

”And why not? You don't want to fight the battle singlehanded?”

”No; I desire no such glory, and would wish to have no better lieutenant than you. But you have a subject of which you are really fond, which you are beginning to understand, and in regard to which you can make yourself useful.”

”You mean this Canada business?”

”Yes;--and that will grow to other matters as regards the colonies.

There is nothing so important to a public man as that he should have his own subject;--the thing which he understands, and in respect of which he can make himself really useful.”

”Then there comes a change.”

”Yes;--and the man who has half learned how to have a s.h.i.+p built without waste is sent into opposition, and is then brought back to look after regiments, or perhaps has to take up that beautiful subject, a study of the career of India. But, nevertheless, if you have a subject, stick to it at any rate as long as it will stick to you.”

”But,” said Phineas, ”if a man takes up his own subject, independent of the Government, no man can drive him from it.”

”And how often does he do anything? Look at the annual motions which come forward in the hands of private men,--Maynooth and the ballot for instance. It is becoming more and more apparent every day that all legislation must be carried by the Government, and must be carried in obedience to the expressed wish of the people. The truest democracy that ever had a chance of living is that which we are now establis.h.i.+ng in Great Britain.”

”Then leave tenant-right to the people and the Cabinet. Why should you take it up?”

Mr. Monk paused a moment or two before he replied. ”If I choose to run a-muck, there is no reason why you should follow me. I am old and you are young. I want nothing from politics as a profession, and you do. Moreover, you have a congenial subject where you are, and need not disturb yourself. For myself, I tell you, in confidence, that I cannot speak so comfortably of my own position.”

”We will go and see, at any rate,” said Phineas.

”Yes,” said Mr. Monk, ”we will go and see.” And thus, in the month of May, it was settled between them that, as soon as the session should be over, and the incidental work of his office should allow Phineas to pack up and be off, they two should start together for Ireland.

Phineas felt rather proud as he wrote to his father and asked permission to bring home with him a Cabinet Minister as a visitor. At this time the reputation of Phineas at Killaloe, as well in the minds of the Killaloeians generally as in those of the inhabitants of the paternal house, stood very high indeed. How could a father think that a son had done badly when before he was thirty years of age he was earning 2,000 a year? And how could a father not think well of a son who had absolutely paid back certain moneys into the paternal coffers? The moneys so repaid had not been much; but the repayment of any such money at Killaloe had been regarded as little short of miraculous. The news of Mr. Monk's coming flew about the town, about the county, about the diocese, and all people began to say all good things about the old doctor's only son. Mrs. Finn had long since been quite sure that a real black swan had been sent forth out of her nest. And the sisters Finn, for some time past, had felt in all social gatherings they stood quite on a different footing than formerly because of their brother. They were asked about in the county, and two of them had been staying only last Easter with the Molonys,--the Molonys of Poldoodie! How should a father and a mother and sisters not be grateful to such a son, to such a brother, to such a veritable black swan out of the nest! And as for dear little Mary Flood Jones, her eyes became suffused with tears as in her solitude she thought how much out of her reach this swan was flying. And yet she took joy in his swanhood, and swore that she would love him still;--that she would love him always. Might he bring home with him to Killaloe, Mr. Monk, the Cabinet Minister! Of course he might. When Mrs. Finn first heard of this august arrival, she felt as though she would like to expend herself in entertaining, though but an hour, the whole cabinet.

Phineas, during the spring, had, of course, met Mr. Kennedy frequently in and about the House, and had become aware that Lady Laura's husband, from time to time, made little overtures of civility to him,--taking him now and again by the b.u.t.ton-hole, walking home with him as far as their joint paths allowed, and asking him once or twice to come and dine in Grosvenor Place. These little advances towards a repet.i.tion of the old friends.h.i.+p Phineas would have avoided altogether, had it been possible. The invitation to Mr. Kennedy's house he did refuse, feeling himself positively bound to do so by Lady Laura's command, let the consequences be what they might. When he did refuse, Mr. Kennedy would a.s.sume a look of displeasure and leave him, and Phineas would hope that the work was done. Then there would come another encounter, and the invitation would be repeated.

At last, about the middle of May, there came another note. ”Dear Finn, will you dine with us on Wednesday, the 28th? I give you a long notice, because you seem to have so many appointments. Yours always, Robert Kennedy.” He had no alternative. He must refuse, even though double the notice had been given. He could only think that Mr.

Kennedy was a very obtuse man and one who would not take a hint, and hope that he might succeed at last. So he wrote an answer, not intended to be conciliatory. ”My dear Kennedy, I am sorry to say that I am engaged on the 28th. Yours always, Phineas Finn.” At this period he did his best to keep out of Mr. Kennedy's way, and would be very cunning in his manoeuvres that they should not be alone together.

It was difficult, as they sat on the same bench in the House, and consequently saw each other almost every day of their lives.

Nevertheless, he thought that with a little cunning he might prevail, especially as he was not unwilling to give so much of offence as might a.s.sist his own object. But when Mr. Kennedy called upon him at his office the day after he had written the above note, he had no means of escape.

”I am sorry you cannot come to us on the 28th,” Mr. Kennedy said, as soon as he was seated.

Phineas was taken so much by surprise that all his cunning failed him. ”Well, yes,” said he; ”I was very sorry;--very sorry indeed.”

”It seems to me, Finn, that you have had some reason for avoiding me of late. I do not know that I have done anything to offend you.”

”Nothing on earth,” said Phineas.

”I am wrong, then, in supposing that anything beyond mere chance has prevented you from coming to my house?” Phineas felt that he was in a terrible difficulty, and he felt also that he was being rather ill-used in being thus cross-examined as to his reasons for not going to a gentleman's dinner. He thought that a man ought to be allowed to choose where he would go and where he would not go, and that questions such as these were very uncommon. Mr. Kennedy was sitting opposite to him, looking more grave and more sour than usual;--and now his own countenance also became a little solemn. It was impossible that he should use Lady Laura's name, and yet he must, in some way, let his persecuting friend know that no further invitation would be of any use;--that there was something beyond mere chance in his not going to Grosvenor Place. But how was he to do this? The difficulty was so great that he could not see his way out of it. So he sat silent with a solemn face. Mr. Kennedy then asked him another question, which made the difficulty ten times greater. ”Has my wife asked you not to come to our house?”

It was necessary now that he should make a rush and get out of his trouble in some way. ”To tell you the truth, Kennedy, I don't think she wants to see me there.”

”That does not answer my question. Has she asked you not to come?”

”She said that which left on my mind an impression that she would sooner that I did not come.”