"Yes, I'm all for it!"
My little party at Walmsley Hall was in most respects a complete success.
My sister was able to come and play hostess, and Eve was charmed with my
house and its surroundings. Mr. Bundercombe, however, was a source of some
little anxiety. On the first morning, when we were all preparing to go
out, he drew me on one side.
"Paul," he said--he had, with some difficulty, got into the way of calling
me by my Christian name occasionally --"I want to get wise to this thing.
Where does your political boss hang out?"
"We haven't such a person," I told him.
He seemed troubled. The more he inquired into our electioneering habits,
the less he seemed to understand them.
"What's your platform, anyway?" he asked.
I handed him a copy of my election address, which he read carefully
through, with a large cigar in the corner of his mouth. He handed it back
to me with a somewhat depressed air.
"Seems to kind of lack grit," he remarked, a little doubtfully. "Why don't
you go for the other side a bit more?"
"Look here!" I suggested, mindful that Eve was waiting for me. "You run
down and have a chat with my agent. You'll find him just opposite the town
hall in Bildborough. There's a car going down now.
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