"Do!" Mr. Bundercombe toyed with his wine glass for a moment and then set
it down. "What I have done," he announced, "is this: I have wired to my
agent. I have ordered him to ship half a dozen machines--if necessary on a
special train--and I am going to give an exhibition on some land I have
hired, over by Little Bildborough, the day after tomorrow."
"That's the day of the election!" I exclaimed.
"You couldn't put it off, I suppose?" he suggested. "That's the day I've
fixed for my exhibition at any rate. I am giving the farmers a free lunch
--slap-up affair it's going to be, I can tell you!"
"I am afraid," I answered, with a wholly wasted sarcasm, "that the affair
has gone too far now for us to consider an alteration in the date."
"Well, well! We must try not to clash," Mr. Bundercombe said
magnanimously. "How long does the voting go on?"
"From eight until eight," I told him.
Mr. Bundercombe was thoughtful.
"It's a long time to hold them!" he murmured.
"To hold whom?" I demanded.
Mr. Bundercombe started slightly.
"Nothing! Nothing! By the by, do you know a chap called Jonas--Henry
Jonas, of Milton Farm?"
"I should think I do!" I groaned. "He's the backbone of the Opposition,
the best speaker they've got and the most popular man.
Pages:
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195