"I wish I knew what he was up to, though."
The next day was the last before the election. The little market of
Bildborough was in a state of considerable excitement. Several open-air
meetings were held toward evening. Eve and I, returning from a motor tour
of the constituency, called at the office of my agent. We chatted with Mr.
Ansell for a little while and then he pointed across the square.
"There's an American there," he said, "that the other side seems to have
got hold of. He's their most popular speaker by a long way; but I gather
they're a little uneasy about him. Didn't I have the pleasure of meeting
him at your house?"
"Mr. Bundercombe!" I sighed. "He came down here to help me!"
Mr. Ansell put on his hat and beckoned mysteriously.
"Come out by the back way," he invited. "We shall hear him. He is going to
speak from the little platform there."
By crossing a hotel yard, a fragment of kitchen garden and a bowling
green, we were able to come within a few yards of where Mr. Bundercombe,
with several other of Mr. Horrocks' supporters, was standing upon a small
raised platform. Two local tradesmen and one helper from London addressed
a few remarks of the usual sort to an apathetic audience, which was
rapidly increasing in size.
Pages:
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197