SCENE VI.—BYEWAYS’ _lodgings_. BYEWAYS _alone, writing_.

_Enter_ TURNSTILE.

_Turnstile._ My dear Byeways; I want your assistance. Deserted by those shabby dogs the Radicals, and tricked, I fear, by the Whigs, I find I have no chance of a decent show of numbers at the next election, if my scientific friends do not support me with spirit. Even so, it _can_ be only an honourable retreat. I count upon _you_,—you understand the world;—and as soon as we can muster a committee, you must be my chairman.

_Byeways._ My good friend, don’t be in a hurry; sit down and tell me all about it. I know you don’t care much about your seat,—and after all,—it is,—to you, a waste of {289} time;—but, with the Independents at your back, you are secure. As to me, my dear fellow, you know that I am——

_Turnstile._ But man! the Independents, as you call them, have taken up Highway; he blusters, and goes any length.

_Byeways._ But Smooth, you know, is strong in Shoreditch,—Government interest,—you brought him in last time; and you and he, together——

_Turnstile._ I know it; but he says he is not _strong enough_ to run any risk. If you will be my chairman, with a good committee, we may at least die game.

_Byeways._ My dear Turnstile, you know how glad I always am to serve you—and you know what _I think_;—but in my situation, my dear fellow, it is quite impossible that I can _oppose_ the ministers. MacLeech too, they say, is a candidate; and his brother-in-law’s uncle was very civil, last year, in Scotland, to my wife’s cousin.—But I _have_ a plan for you. There is Atall, just come to town; make _him_ your chief, and bring the Cambridge men together. The clergy were always strong in Shoreditch. Atall can speak to them.—I am obliged to go to the War Office.—And you had better lose no time in seeing Atall. Sorry to bid you good-bye. [_Exit._

_Turnstile._ Well, this _is_ strange! yet I thought I might have counted upon Byeways. [_Exit._