‘Well, that is rather a reversal of the system which has made England great by reason of the energy and freedom of her people. The State works clumsily and ineffectively. Look at the memoirs of officials, or Government reports, or the revelations of our great establishments, and you will see for yourself that the State works in a way which, if a private firm followed, it would soon be in the Bankruptcy Court. In America things in this respect are as bad as here. The abuses of the Civil Service there are greater than at home. A distinguished American writes: “The spoil system, introduced by President Jackson, which is now stigmatized as ‘the American system,’ imperils not only the purity, economy, and efficiency of the Government, but it destroys confidence in the method of popular government by party. It creates a mercenary political class, an oligarchy of stipendiaries, a bureaucracy of the worst kind, which controls parties with relentless despotism.” How do you like that, friend?’ ‘Not at all,’ said Johnson. ‘No; we must continue fighting on the old lines. Like Burke, I believe at this period of the world’s history there is nothing new in politics or morals. Society has got into the groove which was the only one possible. It must ever go on the old lines. Upset it, turn it topsey-turvy, as they did in France, or as the Socialists would do, and a little while again you will find it on the old lines. Share the wealth of the country, if you like, between you all; it won’t make much difference to me, but the next generation will be as badly off as ever—worse off—for you will have taken from the labourer all motive for exertion.’ ‘And is this what I am to tell the United Buffaloes?’ ‘If you like.’ ‘If I do, not one of us will vote for you.’ ‘Then, perhaps the sooner I give up the contest the better.’ ‘That is what I think,’ said Johnson, as he took up his hat and departed, leaving Wentworth to fear that his mission to Sloville was at an end. Why, even, as he confessed to himself, the Tory programme was more attractive than his own. Toryism is never particular on the score of money. Its generosity at the expense of other people is prodigious. Naturally, we all like a lavish expenditure. There is no one so popular as a spendthrift, as long as his money lasts, no one so hated as a screw. When rosy-fingered morning next day dawned on Sloville, there was quite a crowd of visitors at the hotel patronized by Mr. Wentworth. Everybody is supernaturally and unusually wise when an election takes place, and, feeling how uncertain is human life, seems apparently determined to make the most of it. It is the harvest, if not of the busy bee, at any rate of the busybody. Before Mr. Wentworth had finished his coffee and bacon and eggs, while the dry toast in the rack was yet untouched, the aged and beery waiter announced as how there was a lady outside waitin’ to speak to him.