It was only when Mr. Bundercombe rose to his
feet that the slightest sign of enthusiasm manifested itself. Eve looked
at me with a pleased smile.
"Just look at all of them," she whispered, "how they are hurrying to hear
dad speak!"
"That's all very well," I grumbled; "but he ought to be doing this for
me."
Her fingers pressed my arm.
"Listen!" she said.
Mr. Bundercombe's style was breezy and his jokes were frequent. He stood
in an easy attitude and spoke with remarkable fluency. His first few
remarks, which were mainly humorous, were cheered to the echo. The crowd
was increasing all the time. Presently he took them into his confidence.
"When I came down here a few days ago," we heard him say, "I came meaning
to support my friend, Mr. Walmsley." (Groans and cheers.) "That's all
right, boys!" Mr. Bundercombe continued, "there's nothing the matter with
Mr. Walmsley; but I come from a country where there's a bit more kick
about politics, and I pretty soon made up my mind that the kick wasn't on
the side my young friend belongs to.
"Now just listen to this: As one business man to another, I tell you that
I asked Mr. Walmsley, the first night I was here: 'What are you getting
out of this? Why are you going into Parliament?' He didn't seem to
understand.
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