Marthorne was no orator; he felt when he stood up to speak an odd sensation in the throat, as if the glottis had contracted.  He was, in fact, very nervous, and for the first two or three sentences had not the least idea what he had said.  But he forced himself to say it—­his will overruled his physical weakness.  When said it was not much—­only a few safe platitudes—­but it was a distinct advance.  He felt that next time he should do better, and that his tongue would obey his mind.  His remarks appeared in the local print, and he had started as a speaker.  He was resolved to be a speaker, for it is evident to all that, without frequent public speech, no one can now be a representative man.  Marthorne, after this, never lost an opportunity of speaking—­if merely to second a resolution, to propose a toast, he made the most of it.  One rule he laid down for himself, namely, never to say anything original.  He was not speaking to propound a new theory, a new creed, or view of life.  His aim was to become the mouthpiece of his party.  Most probably the thought that seemed to him so clever might, if publicly expressed, offend some important people.  He, therefore, carefully avoided anything original.  High authorities are now never silent; when Parliament closes they still continue to address the public, and generally upon more or less stirring questions of the time.

In those addresses, delivered by the very leaders of his own party, Marthorne found the material, and caught from their diligent perusal the spirit in which to use it.  In this way, without uttering a single original idea of his own, and with very little originality of expression, the young orator succeeded perfectly in his aim.  First, he became recognised as a speaker, and, therefore, extremely useful; secondly, he was recognised as one of the soundest exponents of politics in the county.  Marthorne was not only clever, but ‘safe.’  His repute for the latter quality was of even more service to him than for talent; to be ‘safe’ in such things is a very great recommendation.  Personal reputation is of slow growth, but it does grow.  The Vice-Chairman, Marthorne’s friend and mentor, had connections with very high people indeed.  He mentioned Marthorne to the very high people.  These, in their turn, occasionally cast a glance at what Marthorne was doing.  Now and then they read a speech of his, and thought it extremely good, solid, and well put.  It was understood that a certain M.P. would retire at the next election; and they asked themselves whom they had to take his place?

While this important question was exercising the minds of those in authority, Marthorne was energetically at work gaining the social suffrage.  The young squire’s lady—­he had married in his minority for beauty and intelligence, and not for money—­was discovered to be a very interesting young person.  Her beauty and intelligence, and, let it be added, her true devotion to her husband’s cause, proved of fifty times more value to him than