The audience opened its mighty mouth and roared, then burst again into, _For he’s a jolly good fellow_! Arthur Branderton, when the tumult was subsiding, rose from his chair and called for more cheers. The object of all this enthusiasm sat calmly, with a well-satisfied look on his face, taking it all with his usual modest complacency. At last the meeting broke up, with cheers, and _God save the Queen_, and _He’s a jolly good fellow_. The committee and the personal friends of the Craddocks retired to the side-room for light refreshment. The ladies clustered round Edward, congratulating him. Arthur Branderton came to Bertha. “Ripping speech, wasn’t it?” he said. “I had no idea he could jaw like that. By Jove, it simply stirred me right through.” Before Bertha could answer, Mrs. Mayston Ryle sailed in. “Where’s the man?” she cried, in her loud tones. “Where is he? Show him to me.... My dear Mr. Craddock, your speech was perfect. I say it.” “And in such good taste,” said Miss Hancock, her eyes glowing. “How proud you must be of your husband, Mrs. Craddock!” “There’s no chance for the Radicals now,” said the Vicar, rubbing his hands. “Oh, Mr. Craddock, let me come near you,” cried Mrs. Branderton. “I’ve been trying to get at you for twenty minutes.... You’ve simply extinguished the horrid Radicals; I couldn’t help crying, you were so pathetic.” “One may say what one likes,” whispered Miss Glover to her brother, “but there’s nothing in the world so beautiful as sentiment. I felt my heart simply bursting.” “Mr. Craddock,” added Mrs. Mayston Ryle, “you’ve pleased me! Where’s your wife, that I may tell her so?” “It’s the best speech we’ve ever had down here,” cried Mrs. Branderton. “That’s the only true thing I’ve heard you say for twenty years, Mrs. Branderton,” replied Mrs. Mayston Ryle, looking very hard at Mr. Atthill Bacot. Chapter XXVI When Lord Roseberry makes a speech, even the journals of his own party report him in the first person and at full length; and this is said to be the politician’s supreme ambition. Having reached such distinction, there is nothing left him but an honourable death and a public funeral in Westminster Abbey. Now, the _Blackstable Times_ accorded this honour to Edward’s first effort; it was printed with numberless _I’s_ peppered boldly over it; the grammar was corrected, and the stops inserted, just as for the most important orators. Edward bought a dozen copies and read the speech right through in each, to see that his sentiments were correctly expressed, and that there were no misprints. He gave it to Bertha, and stood over her while she read. “Looks well, don’t it?” he said. “Splendid!” “By the way, is Aunt Polly’s address 72 Eliot Mansions?” “Yes. Why?” Her jaw fell as she saw him roll up half-a-dozen copies of the _Blackstable Times_ and address the wrapper. “I’m sure she’d like to read my speech. And it might hurt her feelings if she heard about it and I’d not sent her the report.”