On Monday, the 16th of October, Sir Thomas Underwood went down to Percycross, and the first information given him was that Mr. Westmacott and Ontario Moggs had arrived on the Saturday, and were already at work. Mr. Griffenbottom was expected early on the Tuesday. "They\'ve stolen a march on us, then," said Sir Thomas to Mr. Trigger.

"Give \'em rope enough, and they\'ll hang themselves," replied the managing agent. "There was Moggs spouting to them on his own hook on Saturday night, and Westmacott\'s chaps are ready to eat him. And he wanted to be doing it yesterday, Sunday; only some of them got a hold of him and wouldn\'t let him loose. Moggs is a great card for us, Sir Thomas. There\'s nothing like one of them spouting fellows to overset the coach."

"Mr. Westmacott is fond of that too," said Sir Thomas.

"He understands. He\'s used to it. He does it in the proper place. Westmacott wasn\'t a bad member for the place;—wasn\'t perhaps quite free enough with his money, but Westmacott was very decent." Sir Thomas could not help feeling that Trigger spoke of it as though he wished that the two old members might be returned. Ah, well! had it been possible, Mr. Trigger would have wished it. Mr. Trigger understood the borough, knew well the rocks before them, and would have wished it,—although he had been so imperative with Mr. Griffenbottom as to the second conservative candidate. And now Mr. Griffenbottom had sent them a man who would throw all the fat in the fire by talking of purity of election! "And Moggs has been making a fool of himself in another direction," said Trigger, thinking that no opportunity for giving a valuable hint should be lost. "He\'s been telling the working men already that they\'ll be scoundrels and knaves if they take so much as a glass of beer without paying for it."

"Scoundrel is a strong word," said Sir Thomas, "but I like him for that."

"Percycross won\'t like him. Men would rather have all that left to their own feelings. They who want beer or money certainly won\'t thank him; and they who don\'t want it don\'t like to be suspected."

"Every one will take it as addressed to his neighbour and not to himself."

"We are very fond of our neighbours here, Sir Thomas, and that kind of thing won\'t go down." This was on the evening of the candidate\'s arrival, and the conversation was going on absolutely while Sir Thomas was eating his dinner. He had asked Mr. Trigger to join him, and Mr. Trigger had faintly alleged that he had dined at three; but he soon so far changed his mind as to be able to express an opinion that he could "pick a bit," and he did pick a bit. After which he drank the best part of a bottle of port,—having assured Sir Thomas that the port at the Percy Standard was a sort of wine that one didn\'t get every day. And as he drank his port, he continued to pour in lessons of wisdom. Sir Thomas employed his mind the while in wondering when Mr. Trigger would go away, and forecasting whether Mr. Trigger would desire to drink port wine at the Percy Standard every evening during the process of canvassing. About nine o\'clock the waiter announced that a few gentlemen below desired to see Sir Thomas. "Our friends," said Mr. Trigger. "Just put chairs, and bring a couple of bottles of port, John. I\'m glad they\'re come, Sir Thomas, because it shows that they mean to take to you." Up they were shown, Messrs. Spiveycomb, Spicer, Pile, Roodylands,—the bootmaker who has not yet been named,—Pabsby, and seven or eight others. Sir Thomas shook hands with them all. He observed that Mr. Trigger was especially cordial in his treatment of Spicer, the mustard-maker,—as to whose defection he had been so fearful in consequence of certain power which Mr. Westmacott might have in the wholesale disposal of mustard. "I hope you find yourself better," said Mr. Pile, opening the conversation. Sir Thomas assured his new friend that he was pretty well. "\'Cause you seemed rayther down on your luck when you was here before," said Mr. Pile.

"No need for that," said Spicer, the man of mustard. "Is there, Trigger?" Trigger sat a little apart, with one bottle of port wine at his elbow, and took no part in the conversation. He was aware that his opportunities were so great that the outside supporters ought to have their time. "Any objection to this, Sir Thomas?" he said, taking a cigar-case out of his pocket. Sir Thomas, who hated tobacco, of course gave permission. Trigger rang the bell, ordered cigars for the party, and then sat apart with his port wine. In ten minutes Sir Thomas hardly knew where he was, so dense was the cloud of smoke.

"Sir Thomas," began Mr. Pabsby,—"if I could only clearly see my way—"

"You\'ll see it clear enough before nomination-day," said Mr. Pile.

"Any ways, after election," said a conservative grocer. Both these gentlemen belonged to the Established Church and delighted in snubbing Mr. Pabsby. Indeed, Mr. Pabsby had no business at this meeting, and so he had been told very plainly by one or two as he had joined them in the street. He explained, however, that his friend Sir Thomas had come to him the very first person in Percycross, and he carried his point in joining the party. But he was a mild man, and when he was interrupted he merely bided another opportunity.

"I hope, Sir Thomas, your mind is made up to do something for our trade," said Mr. Roodylands.

"What\'s the matter with your trade?" said Spiveycomb, the paper-maker.

"Well;—we ain\'t got no jobs in it;—that\'s the matter," said Mr. Pile.

"As for jobs, what\'s the odds?" said a big and burly loud-mouthed tanner. "All on us likes a good thing when it comes in our way. Stow that, and don\'t let\'s be told about jobs. Sir Thomas, here\'s your health, and I wish you at the top of the poll,—that is, next to Mr. Griffenbottom." Then they all drank to Sir Thomas\'s health, Mr. Pabsby filling himself a bumper for the occasion.

It was eleven before they went away, at which time Mr. Pabsby had three times got as far as a declaration of his wish to see things clearly. Further than this he could not get; but still he went away in perfect good humour. He would have another opportunity, as he took occasion to whisper when he shook hands with the candidate. Trigger stayed even yet for half-an-hour. "Don\'t waste your time on that fellow, Pabsby," he said. "No, I won\'t," said Sir Thomas. "And be very civil to old Pile." "He doesn\'t seem disposed to return the compliment," said Sir Thomas. "But he doesn\'t want your interest in the borough," said Trigger, with the air of a man who had great truths to teach. "In electioneering, Sir Thomas, it\'s mostly the same as in other matters. Nothing\'s to be had for nothing. If you were a retail seller of boots from Manchester old Pile would be civil enough to you. You may snub Spicer as much as you please, because he\'ll expect to get something out of you." "He\'ll be very much deceived," said Sir Thomas. "I\'m not so sure of that," said Trigger;—"Spicer knows what he\'s about pretty well." Then, at last, Mr. Trigger went, assuring Sir Thomas most enthusiastically that he would be with him before nine the next morning.

Many distressing thoughts took possession of Sir Thomas as he lay in bed. He had made up his mind that he would in no way break the law, and he didn\'t know whether he had not broken it already by giving these people tobacco and wine. And yet it would have been impossible for him to have refused Mr. Trigger permission to order the supply. Even for the sake of the seat,—even for the sake of his reputation, which was so much dearer to him than the seat,—he could not have bidden guests, who had come to him in his own room, to go elsewhere if they required wine. It was a thing not to be done, and yet, for aught he knew, Mr. Trigger might continue to order food and wine, and beer and tobacco, to be supplied ad libitum, and whenever he chose. How was he to put an end to it, otherwise than by throwing up the game, and going back to London? That now would be gross ill-usage to the Conservatives of Percycross, who by such a step would be left in the lurch without a candidate. And then was it to be expected that he should live for a week with Mr. Trigger, with no other relief than that which would be afforded by Messrs. Pile, Spiveycomb, and Co. Everything about him was reeking of tobacco. And then, when he sat down to breakfast at nine o\'clock there would be Mr. Trigger!

The next morning he was out of bed at seven, and ordered his breakfast at eight sharp. He would steal a march on Trigger. He went out into the sitting-room, and there was Trigger already seated in the arm-chair, studying the list of the voters of Percycross! Heavens, what a man! "I thought I\'d look in early, and they told me you were coming out or I\'d have just stepped into your room." Into his very bed-room! Sir Thomas shuddered as he heard the proposition. "We\'ve a telegram from Griffenbottom," continued Trigger, "and he won\'t be here till noon. We can\'t begin till he comes."

"Ah;—then I can just write a few letters," said Sir Thomas.

"I wouldn\'t mind letters now if I was you. If you don\'t mind, we\'ll go and look up the parsons. There are four or five of \'em, and they like to be seen;—not in the way of canvassing. They\'re all right, of course. And there\'s two of \'em won\'t leave a stone unturned in the outside hamlets. But they like to be seen, and their wives like it." Whereupon Mr. Trigger ordered breakfast,—and eat it. Sir Thomas reminded himself that a fortnight was after all but a short duration of time. He might live through a fortnight,—probably,—and then when Mr. Griffenbottom came it would be shared between two.

At noon he returned to the Percy Standard, very tired, there to await the coming of Mr. Griffenbottom. Mr. Griffenbottom didn\'t come till three, and then bustled up into the sitting-room, which Sir Thomas had thought was his own, as though all Percycross belonged to him. During the last three hours supporters had been in and out continually, and Mr. Pabsby had made an ineffectual attempt or two to catch Sir Thomas alone. Trigger had been going up and down between the Standard and the station. Various men, friends and supporters of Griffenbottom and Underwood, had been brought to him. Who were paid agents, who were wealthy townsmen, who were canvassers and messengers, he did not know. There were bottles on the sideboard the whole time. Sir Thomas, in a speculative manner, endeavouring to realise to himself the individuality of this and that stranger, could only conceive that they who helped themselves were wealthy townsmen, and that they who waited till they were asked by others were paid canvassers and agents. But he knew nothing, and could only wish himself back in Southampton Buildings.

At last Mr. Griffenbottom, followed by a cloud of supporters, bustled into the room. Trigger at once introduced the two candidates. "Very glad to meet you," said Griffenbottom. "So we\'re going to fight this little battle together. I remember you in the House, you know, and I dare say you remember me. I\'m used to this kind of thing. I suppose you ain\'t. Well, Trigger, how are things look............