Mr. Trigger had hinted that Ontario Moggs would be a thorn in the flesh of Mr. Westmacott\'s supporters at Percycross, and he had been right. Ontario was timid, hesitating, and not unfrequently brow-beaten in the social part of his work at the election. Though he made great struggles he could neither talk, nor walk, nor eat, nor sit, as though he were the equal of his colleague. But when they came to politics and political management, there was no holding him. He would make speeches when speeches were not held to be desirable by his committee, and he was loud upon topics as to which it was thought that no allusion whatever should have been made. To talk about the ballot had from the first been conceded to Moggs. Mr. Westmacott was, indeed, opposed to the ballot; but it had been a matter of course that the candidate of the people should support that measure. The ballot would have been a safety-valve. But Moggs was so cross-grained, ill-conditioned, and uncontrollable that he would not let the ballot suffice him. The ballot was almost nothing to him. Strikes and bribery were his great subjects; the beauty of the one and the ugliness of the other. The right of the labourer to combine with his brother labourers to make his own terms for his labour, was the great lesson he taught. The suicidal iniquity of the labourer in selling that political power which he should use to protect his labour was the source of his burning indignation. That labour was the salt of the earth he told the men of Percycross very often;—and he told them as often that manliness and courage were necessary to make that salt productive. Gradually the men of Percycross,—some said that they were only the boys of Percycross,—clustered round him, and learned to like to listen to him. They came to understand something of the character of the man who was almost too shame-faced to speak to them while he was being dragged round to their homes on his canvas, but whom nothing could repress when he was on his legs with a crowd before him. It was in vain that the managing agent told him that he would not get a vote by his spouting and shouting. On such occasions he hardly answered a word to the managing agent. But the spouting and shouting went on just the same, and was certainly popular among the bootmakers and tanners. Mr. Westmacott was asked to interfere, and did do so once in some mild fashion; but Ontario replied that having been called to this sphere of action he could only do his duty according to his own lights. The young men\'s presidents, and secretaries, and chairmen were for awhile somewhat frightened, having been assured by the managing men of the liberal committee that the election would be lost by the furious insanity of their candidate. But they decided upon supporting Moggs, having found that they would be deposed from their seats if they discarded him. At last, when the futile efforts to control Moggs had been maintained with patience for something over a week, when it still wanted four or five days to the election, an actual split was made in the liberal camp. Moggs was turned adrift by the Westmacottian faction. Bills were placarded about the town explaining the cruel necessity for such action, and describing Moggs as a revolutionary firebrand. And now there were three parties in the town. Mr. Trigger rejoiced over this greatly with Mr. Griffenbottom. "If they haven\'t been and cut their throats now it is a wonder," he said over and over again. Even Sir Thomas caught something of the feeling of triumph, and began almost to hope that he might be successful. Nevertheless the number of men who could not quite make up their minds as to what duty required of them till the day of the election was considerable, and Mr. Pile triumphantly whispered into Mr. Trigger\'s ear his conviction that "after all, things weren\'t going to be changed at Percycross quite so easily as some people supposed."

When Moggs was utterly discarded by the respectable leaders of the liberal party in the borough,—turned out of the liberal inn at which were the head-quarters of the party, and refused the right of participating in the liberal breakfasts and dinners which were there provided, Moggs felt himself to be a triumphant martyr. His portmanteau and hat-box were carried by an admiring throng down to the Cordwainers\' Arms,—a house not, indeed, of the highest repute in the town,—and here a separate committee was formed. Mr. Westmacott did his best to avert the secession; but his supporters were inexorable. The liberal tradesmen of Percycross would have nothing to do with a candidate who declared that inasmuch as a man\'s mind was more worthy than a man\'s money, labour was more worthy than capital, and that therefore the men should dominate and rule their masters. That was a doctrine necessarily abominable to every master tradesman. The men were to decide how many hours they would work, what recreation they would have, in what fashion and at what rate they would be paid, and what proportion of profit should be allowed to the members, and masters, and creators of the firm! That was the doctrine that Moggs was preaching. The tradesmen of Percycross, whether liberal or conservative, did not understand much in the world of politics, but they did understand that such a doctrine as that, if carried out, would take them to a very Gehenna of revolutionary desolation. And so Moggs was banished from the Northern Star, the inn at which Mr. Westmacott was living, and was forced to set up his radical staff at the Cordwainers\' Arms.

In one respect he certainly gained much by this persecution. The record of his election doings would have been confined to the columns of the "Percycross Herald" had he carried on his candidature after the usual fashion; but, as it was now, his doings were blazoned in the London newspapers. The "Daily News" reported him, and gave him an article all to himself; and even the "Times" condescended to make an example of him, and to bring him up as evidence that revolutionary doctrines were distasteful to the electors of the country generally. The fame of Ontario Moggs certainly became more familiar to the ears of the world at large than it would have done had he continued to run in a pair with Mr. Westmacott. And that was everything to him. Polly Neefit must hear of him now that his name had become a household word in the London newspapers.

And in another respect he gained much. All personal canvassing was now at an end for him. There could be no use in his going about from house to house asking for votes. Indeed, he had discovered that to do so was a thing iniquitous in itself, a demoralising practice tending to falsehood, intimidation, and corruption,—a thing to be denounced. And he denounced it. Let the men of Percycross hear him, question him in public, learn from his spoken words what were his political principles,—and then vote for him if they pleased. He would condescend to ask a vote as a favour from no man. It was for them rather to ask him to bestow upon them the gift of his time and such ability as he possessed. He took a very high tone indeed in his speeches, and was saved the labour of parading the streets. During these days he looked down from an immeasurable height on the truckling, mean, sordid doings of Griffenbottom, Underwood, and Westmacott. A huge board had been hoisted up over the somewhat low frontage of the Cordwainers\' Arms, and on this was painted in letters two feet high a legend which it delighted him to read, Moggs, Purity, and the Rights of Labour. Ah, if that could only be understood, there was enough in it to bring back an age of gold to suffering humanity! No other Reform would be needed. In that short legend everything necessary for man was contained.

Mr. Pile and Mr. Trigger stood together one evening looking at the legend from a distance. "Moggs and purity!" said Mr. Pile, in that tone of disgust, and with that peculiar action which had become common to him in speaking of this election.

"He hasn\'t a ghost of a chance," said Mr. Trigger, who was always looking straight at the main point;—"nor yet hasn\'t Westmacott."

"There\'s worse than Westmacott," said Mr. Pile.

"But what can we do?" said Trigger.

"Purity! Purity!" said the old man. "It makes me that sick that I wish there weren\'t such a thing as a member of Parliament. Purity and pickpockets is about the same. When I\'m among \'em I buttons up my breeches-pockets."

"But what can we do?" asked Mr. Trigger again, in a voice of woe. Mr. Trigger quite sympathised with his elder friend; but, being a younger man, he knew that these innovations must be endured.

Then Mr. Pile made a speech, of such length that he had never been known to make the like before;—so that Mr. Trigger felt that things had become very serious, and that, not impossibly, Mr. Pile might be so affected by this election as never again to hold up his head in Percycross. "Purity! Purity!" he repeated. "They\'re a going on that way, Trigger, that the country soon won\'t be fit for a man to live in. And what\'s the meaning of it all? It\'s just this,—that folks wants what they wants without paying for it. I hate Purity, I do. I hate the very smell of it. It stinks. When I see the chaps as come here and talk of Purity, I know they mean that nothing ain\'............