"I'll take another glass of sherry, Ladislaw," he said, with an easy
air, to Will, who was close behind him, and presently handed him the
supposed fortifier. It was ill-chosen; for Mr. Brooke was an
abstemious man, and to drink a second glass of sherry quickly at no
great interval from the first was a surprise to his system which tended
to scatter his energies instead of collecting them. Pray pity him: so
many English gentlemen make themselves miserable by speechifying on
entirely private grounds! whereas Mr. Brooke wished to serve his
country by standing for Parliament--which, indeed, may also be done on
private grounds, but being once undertaken does absolutely demand some
speechifying.
It was not about the beginning of his speech that Mr. Brooke was at all
anxious; this, he felt sure, would be all right; he should have it
quite pat, cut out as neatly as a set of couplets from Pope. Embarking
would be easy, but the vision of open sea that might come after was
alarming. "And questions, now," hinted the demon just waking up in his
stomach, "somebody may put questions about the schedules.--Ladislaw,"
he continued, aloud, "just hand me the memorandum of the schedules."
When Mr. Brooke presented himself on the balcony, the cheers were quite
loud enough to counterbalance the yells, groans, brayings, and other
expressions of adverse theory, which were so moderate that Mr. Standish
(decidedly an old bird) observed in the ear next to him, "This looks
dangerous, by God! Hawley has got some deeper plan than this." Still,
the cheers were exhilarating, and no candidate could look more amiable
than Mr. Brooke, with the memorandum in his breast-pocket, his left
hand on the rail of the balcony, and his right trifling with his
eye-glass. The striking points in his appearance were his buff
waistcoat, short-clipped blond hair, and neutral physiognomy. He began
with some confidence.
"Gentlemen--Electors of Middlemarch!"
This was so much the right thing that a little pause after it seemed
natural.
"I'm uncommonly glad to be here--I was never so proud and happy in my
life--never so happy, you know."
This was a bold figure of speech, but not exactly the right thing; for,
unhappily, the pat opening had slipped away--even couplets from Pope
may be but "fallings from us, vanishings," when fear clutches us, and a
glass of sherry is hurrying like smoke among our ideas. Ladislaw, who
stood at the window behind the speaker, thought, "it's all up now. The
only chance is that, since the best thing won't always do, floundering
may answer for once." Mr. Brooke, meanwhile, having lost other clews,
fell back on himself and his qualifications--always an appropriate
graceful subject for a candidate.