Sir George Tressady — Volume I by Ward, Humphry, Mrs., 1851-1920

"Whativer do we want wi' the loikes o' yo representin us!" shouted another man, pointing at Tressady. "Look at 'im; ee can't walk, ee can't; mus be druv, poor hinnercent! When did yo iver do a day's work, eh? Look at my 'ands! Them's the 'ands for honest men--ain't they, you fellers?"

There was a roar of laughter and approval from the crowd, and up went a forest of begrimed hands, flourishing and waving.

George calmly put down the carriage-window, and, leaning his arms upon it, put his head out. He flung some good-humoured banter at some of the nearest men, and two or three responded. But the majority of the faces were lowering and fierce, and the horses were becoming inconveniently crowded.

"Get on, Gregson," said Fontenoy, opening the front window of the brougham.

"If they'll let me, your lordship," said Gregson, rather pale, raising his whip.

The horses made a sudden start forward. There was a yell from the crowd, and three or four men had just dashed for the horses' heads, when a shout of a different kind ascended.

"Burrows! 'Ere's Burrows! Three cheers for Burrows!"

And some distance behind them, at the corner of the village street, Tressady suddenly perceived a tall dogcart drawing up with two men in it. It was already surrounded by a cheering and tumultuous assembly, and one of the men in the cart was shaking hands right and left.

George drew in his head, with a laugh. "This is dramatic. They've stopped the horses, and here's Burrows!"

Fontenoy shrugged his shoulders. "They'll blackguard us a bit, I suppose, and let us go. Burrows 'll keep them in order."

"What d'yer mean by it, heh, dash yer!" shouted a huge man, as he sprang on the step of the carriage and shook a black fist in Tressady's face--"thrustin yer d----d carkiss where yer ain't wanted? We wanted '_im_, and we've worked for 'im. This is a workin-class district, an we've a _right_ to 'im. Do yer 'ear?"

"Then you should have given him seventeen more votes," said George, composedly, as he thrust his hands into his pockets. "It's the fortunes of war--your turn next time. I say, suppose you tell your fellows to let our man get on. We've had a long day, and we're hungry. Ah"--to Fontenoy--"here's Burrows coming!"

Fontenoy turned, and saw that the dogcart had drawn up alongside them, and that one of the men was standing on the step of it, holding on to the rail of the cart.

He was a tall, finely built man, and as he looked down on the carriage, and on Tressady leaning over the window, the light from a street-lamp near showed a handsome face blanched with excitement and fatigue.

"Now, my friends," he said, raising his arm, and addressing the crowd, "you let Sir George go home to his dinner. He's beaten us, and so far as I know _he's_ fought fair, whatever some of his friends may have done for him. I'm going home to have a bite of something and a wash. I'm done. But if any of you like to come round to the club--eight o'clock--I'll tell you a thing or two about this election. Now goodnight to you, Sir George. We'll beat you yet, trust us. Fall back there!"