You know it is the handwriting. Now if you will listen, you will know
that this must be the list of statistics which was to be the ‘nub’ of
your great effort, and the accompanying blast the beginning of the burst
of eloquence which was continued on the next page–and you will recognize
that there was where you broke down.”
She read the page. Mr. Trollop said:
“This is perfectly astounding. Still, what is all this to me? It is
nothing. It does not concern me. The speech is made, and there an end.
I did break down for a moment, and in a rather uncomfortable place, since
I had led up to those statistics with some grandeur; the hiatus was
pleasanter to the House and the galleries than it was to me. But it is
no matter now. A week has passed; the jests about it ceased three or
four days ago. The, whole thing is a matter of indifference to me, Miss
Hawkins.”
“But you apologized; and promised the statistics for next day. Why
didn’t you keep your promise.”
“The matter was not of sufficient consequence. The time was gone by to
produce an effect with them.”
“But I hear that other friends of the Soldiers’ Pension Bill desire them
very much. I think you ought to let them have them.”
“Miss Hawkins, this silly blunder of my copyist evidently has more
interest for you than it has for me. I will send my private secretary to
you and let him discuss the subject with you at length.”
“Did he copy your speech for you?”
“Of course he did. Why all these questions? Tell me–how did you get
hold of that page of manuscript? That is the only thing that stirs a
passing interest in my mind.”
“I’m coming to that.” Then she said, much as if she were talking to
herself: “It does seem like taking a deal of unnecessary pains, for a
body to hire another body to construct a great speech for him and then go
and get still another body to copy it before it can be read in the
House.”
“Miss Hawkins, what do yo mean by such talk as that?”
“Why I am sure I mean no harm–no harm to anybody in the world. I am
certain that I overheard the Hon. Mr. Buckstone either promise to write
your great speech for you or else get some other competent person to do
it.”
“This is perfectly absurd, madam, perfectly absurd!” and Mr. Trollop
affected a laugh of derision.
“Why, the thing has occurred before now. I mean that I have heard that
Congressmen have sometimes hired literary grubs to build speeches for
them. –Now didn’t I overhear a conversation like that I spoke of?”
“Pshaw! Why of course you may have overheard some such jesting nonsense.
But would one be in earnest about so farcical a thing?”
“Well if it was only a joke, why did you make a serious matter of it?
Why did you get the speech written for you, and then read it in the House
without ever having it copied?”
Mr. Trollop did not laugh this time; he seemed seriously perplexed. He
said:
“Come, play out your jest, Miss Hawkins. I can’t understand what you are
contriving–but it seems to entertain you–so please, go on.”
“I will, I assure you; but I hope to make the matter entertaining to you,
too. Your private secretary never copied your speech.”
“Indeed? Really you seem to know my affairs better than I do myself.”
“I believe I do. You can’t name your own amanuensis, Mr. Trollop.”
“That is sad, indeed. Perhaps Miss Hawkins can?”
“Yes, I can. I wrote your speech myself, and you read it from my
manuscript. There, now!”
Mr. Trollop did not spring to his feet and smite his brow with his hand
while a cold sweat broke out all over him and the color forsook his face
–no, he only said, “Good God!” and looked greatly astonished.
Laura handed him her commonplace-book and called his attention to the
fact that the handwriting there and the handwriting of this speech were
the same. He was shortly convinced. He laid the book aside and said,