In all this he was very great; but when it might fall to his duty either to suggest or defend any real piece of proposed legislation he was less happy. On this occasion he had been driven to take the matter in hand because he had previously been concerned in it as a lawyer. He had allowed himself to wax angry as he endeavoured to answer certain personal criticisms. Now Sir Timothy was never stronger then when he simulated anger. His mock indignation was perhaps his most powerful weapon. But real anger is a passion which few men can use with judgement. And now Sir Timothy was really angry, and condescended to speak of our old friend Phineas who had made the onslaught as a bellicose Irishman. There was an over-true story as to our friend having once been seduced into fighting a duel, and those who wished to decry him sometimes alluded to the adventure. Sir Timothy had been called to order, but the Speaker had ruled 'bellicose Irishman' was not beyond the latitude of parliamentary animadversion. Then Sir Timothy had repeated the phrase with emphasis, and the Duke hearing it in the gallery had made his remark as to the unwonted eloquence of his son's parliamentary chief.
'Surely we ought to listen to him,' said the Duke. And for a short time they did listen. 'Sir Timothy is not a man I like, you know,' said the son, feeling himself obliged to apologise for his subjection to such a chief.
'I never particularly loved him myself.'
'They say he is a sort of necessity.'
'A Conservative Fate,' said the Duke.
'Well, yes; he is so,--so awfully clever! We all feel that we could not get on without him. When you were in, he was one of your party.'
'Oh yes;--he was one of us. I have no right to complain of you for using him. But when you say you could not get on without him, does it not occur to you that should he,--let us say be taken to heaven,--you would have to get on without him.'
'Then he would be,--out of the way, sir.'
'What you mean perhaps is that you do not know how to get rid of him.'
'Of course I don't pretend to know much about it; but they all think that he does know how to keep the party together. I don't think we are proud of him.'
'Hardly that.'
'He is awfully useful. A man has to look out so sharp to be always ready for those other fellows! I beg your pardon, sir, but I mean your side.'
'I understand who the other fellows are.'
'And it isn't everybody who will go through such a grind. A man to do it must be always ready. He has so many little things to think of. As far as I can see we all feel that we could not get along very well without him.' Upon the whole the Duke was pleased with what he heard from his son. The young man's ideas about politics were boyish, but they were the ideas of a clear-headed boy.
Silverbridge had picked up some of the ways of the place, though he had not yet formed any sound political opinions.
Then Sir Timothy finished a long speech with a flowery peroration, in which he declared that if Parliament were desirous of keeping the realms of Her Majesty free from the invasions of foreigners it must be done by maintaining the dignity of the Judicial bench.
There were some clamours at this, and although it was now dinner-time Phineas Finn, who had been called a bellicose Irishman, was able to say a word or two. 'The Right Honourable gentleman no doubt means,' said Phineas, 'that we must carry ourselves with some increased external dignity. The world is bewigging itself, and we must buy a bigger wig than any we have got, in order to confront the world with proper self-respect. Turveydrop and deportment will suffice for us against odds.'
About half-past seven the House became very empty. 'Where are going to dine, sir?' asked Silverbridge. The Duke, with something like a sigh, said he supposed he should dine at home.
'You never were at the Beargarden;--were you, sir?' asked Silverbridge suddenly.
'Never,' said the Duke.
'Come and dine with me.'
'I am not a member of the club.'
'We don't care at all about that. Anybody can take anybody.'
'Does not that make it promiscuous?'
'Well;--no; I don't know that it does. It seems to go no very well.
I daresay there are some cads there sometimes. But I don't know where one doesn't meet cads. There are plenty in the House of Commons.'
'There is something in that, Silverbridge, which makes me think that you have not realised the difference between private and public life. In the former you choose your own associates and are responsible for your choice. In the latter you are concerned with others for the good of the State; and though even for the State's sake, you would not willingly be closely allied with those whom you think dishonest, the outward manners and fashions of life need create no barriers. I should not turn up my nose at the House of Commons because some constituency might send them an illiterate shoemaker; but I might probably find the illiterate shoemaker an unprofitable companion for my private hours.'
'I don't think there will be any shoemakers at the Beargarden.'
'Even if there were I would go an dine with you. I shall be glad to see the place where you, I suppose, pass many hours.'
'I find it a very good shop to dine at. The place at the House is so stuffy and nasty. Besides, one likes to get away for a time.'
'Certainly. I never was an advocate for living in the House. One should always change the atmosphere.' Then they got into a cab and went to the club. Silverbridge was a little afraid of what he was doing. The invitation had come from him on the spur of the moment, and he hardly ventured to think that his father would accept it. And now he did not quite know how the Duke would go through the ceremony. 'The other fellows' would come and stare at a man whom they had all been taught to regard as the most un-Beargardenish of men. But he was especially anxious to make things pleasant for his father.
'What shall I order?' said the son as he took the Duke into a dressing-room to wash his hands. The Duke suggested that anything sufficient for his son would certainly be sufficient for him.