Mr. Forrester smiled. He did not tell him that he had already approached two very good men; and that, being shrewd as well as good--politically good, which represents a condition that is possibly not quite the same as ethically good--they had shaken their heads and told him to go on to the next street. No. Mr. Franklin Forrester regarded those communications as strictly confidential; he did not think it necessary to allude to them. “I have come to the right man, if I know anything of the Nuttingford division,” was what he did say; “and I think I know something of the Nuttingford division,” he added. “I don’t doubt it; but you don’t know quite so much about the man you’ve come to, or you wouldn’t have come,” suggested Jack. Then he glanced at his wife, and Mr. Forrester noted that glance with great interest. “It’s because I know you, my friend, better than you know yourself--I won’t say better than Mrs. Wingfield knows you--that I have come to you,” said the politician. “You are the sort of man that we want--that the country wants.” “Oh, I say, why drag in the poor old country by the hair of the head? It’s almost indecent,” remonstrated Jack, and once again he glanced at his wife. She smiled back at him, but spoke not a word. She was a wise woman. A wise woman is one who has a great deal to say and remains silent. “You are the man that’s wanted at this time,” resumed Forrester. “By the way, what are your politics?” “What politics do you want?” asked Jack. “I fancy that if I were to stand I could accommodate you; but I shan’t.” “You’re the man for us. Most of us inherit our politics with the family Bible and our grandfather’s clock, and we rarely change them, unless, like our young Zimri--the unsuccessful Zimri--we are at the tail end of a Parliament, and are certain that there will be a change of government in the next--a change of government has usually meant a change of politics with the family of our aspiring Zimri. His father was the successful Zimri, but he didn’t have peace; and the founder of the family elevated Zimriism to a fine art--he didn’t have peace either--on the contrary, he had a wife. All things are possible with such men; but I don’t care what your politics are; we’ll put you in for Nuttingford, if you’ll agree to stand.” “This is rot, Forrester, and you know it. What good shall I be in your House of Commons? What good shall I be to your blessed Party anyway?”