Of late, the pomade-bottle
has disappeared. The G.O.M. is now content to take the ordinary glass of
water. It is very seldom that he requires even that amount of sustenance
during his great speeches. However, he had been doing a good deal that
day--he had already made a long speech to his supporters in the Foreign
Office--and he required a glass of water. He called out for it, and, at
once, there was a rush from the Treasury Bench to the lobby outside.
But, before this could be done, the very pleasant little episode to
which I have alluded took place. There stood opposite Mr. Jackson, the
late Chief Secretary, an untouched glass of water. When he heard the
cry of the Old Man, Mr. Jackson--who has plenty of Yorkshire kindliness,
as well as Yorkshire bluffness--at once took up the glass that stood
before him, and handed it across the table. With a bow, and a delighted
and delightful smile, the Old Man took the glass, and drank almost
greedily. And then, turning to his opponents, he said, "I wish the right
hon. gentleman who uses me so kindly, were as willing to take from my
fountainhead as I am from his." The grace, the courtesy, the readiness
with which it was said, took the House by storm, and it was hard to say
whether the delighted laughter and cheers came in greater volume from
the Tory or the Liberal side of the House.
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