"Ah! you'll excuse me, my dear sir," Mr. Fyfe added, after a short pause; "but of course there's no necessity to impress upon you the importance of courtesy towards your opponent--I mean Kerswill. You're certain to meet on the hustings; and most probably, in a swellish place like Brocksopp, you'll be constantly running across each other in the streets while you're on your canvass. Then, courtesy, my dear sir, before everything else!" "You need not be afraid, Mr. Fyfe," said Joyce, smiling; "I shall be perfectly courteous to Mr. Creswell." "Of course you will, my dear sir; of course you will! Mustn't think it odd in me to suggest it; part of my business to point these things out when I'm coaching a candidate; and necessary too, deuced necessary sometimes, though you wouldn't think it. Less than six months ago, when poor Wiggington was lost in his yacht in the Mediterranean--you remember?--we sent down a man to stand for his borough. Lord---- No! I won't tell you his name; but the eldest son of an earl. The other side sent down a man too--a brewer, or a maltster, or something of that kind; but a deucedly gentlemanly fellow. They met on their canvass, these two, just as you and Kerswill might; and this man, like a gentleman, took off his hat. What did our man do? Stopped still, stuck his glass in his eye, and stared; never bowed, never moved; give you my word. Had to withdraw him at once; his committee stood by and saw it, and wouldn't act for him any more. 'Lordship be damned!' that's what they said. Strong language, but that's what they said; give you my word. Had to withdraw him, too late to find another man; so our people lost the seat."