"
"I'm on!" he agreed. "Anyway I must get to understand this business."
He departed presently and returned to luncheon with a distinctly
crestfallen air. He beckoned me mysteriously into the library and laid his
hand upon my shoulder in friendly fashion.
"Look here, Paul," he said, "is it too late to change your ticket?"
"Change my what?" I asked him.
"Change your platform--or whatever you call it! You're on the wrong horse,
Paul, my boy. Even your own agent admits it--though I never mentioned your
name at first or told him who I was. All the people round here with votes
are farmers, agricultural laborers and small shopkeepers. Your platform's
of no use to them."
"Well, that's what we've got to find out!" I protested. "Personally, I am
convinced that it is."
"Now look here!" Mr. Bundercombe argued; "these chaps, though they seem
stupid enough, are all out for themselves. They want to vote for what's
going to make life easier for them. What's the good of sticking it into
'em about the Empire! Between you and me I don't think they care a fig for
it. Then all this talk about military service----Gee! They ain't big
enough for it! Disestablishment too--what do they care about that! You let
me write your address for you.
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