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Updated: June 24, 2025
Dim rumours of a "row" at Sir Winterton's meeting reached the Bull that night, brought by Jimmy Benyon, who had been at a minor meeting across the railway bridge among the railway men. Somebody had brought up an old scandal, and the candidate's answer had not given satisfaction.
"Say," said Mr. Tooting, laying a hand on his candidate's arm. "You couldn't do any better. I've bin for that all along." "Hold on," said Mr. Crewe, listening, "a lot of people are coming in now." What Mr. Crewe had heard, however, was the arrival of the Ladies' Auxiliary, five and thirty strong, from Leith. But stay! Who are these coming?
'Well, commander, well, sir, they say a candidate's to be humoured in his infancy, for he has to do all the humouring before he's many weeks old at it; only there's the fact! he soon finds out he has to pay for his first fling, like the son of a family sowing his oats to reap his Jews.
They were Sylvia and Harley, engrossed in talk and caring not at all for the passage of the herd. The two brown heads were not far apart, and Mrs. Grayson was near enough to see that Sylvia's color was beautiful. The candidate's wife was annoyed, and, like any other good woman, she was ready to vent her annoyance on somebody.
Grayson and Mr. Plummer. Hobart was at the candidate's elbow. Twilight was at hand and the darkness was increasing, although the snow was thinning. Hobart, peering out on the plain, saw only the swells of snow rising and falling like a white sea, and overhead the sky of sullen clouds. He marked the agony on the faces of the candidate and the "King," and his own heart was heavy.
Tomlinson eulogized the manly candour of the junior Liberal candidate's address, in which he professed to see ideas that distinguished it from the address of the sound but otherwise conventional Liberal, Mr. Cougham. He muttered of plumping for Beauchamp. 'Don't plump, Beauchamp said; and a candidate, if he would be an honourable twin, must say it.
Everything about them was calculated to induce a deep seriousness of mind, and to inspire feelings of awe, dread and even terror, so as to test the candidate's fortitude of soul to the utmost. The avenue of approach to an Egyptian temple was flanked on both sides, sometimes for a mile or more, with great stone sphinxes that emblem of man's dual nature, the god emerging from the beast.
"If the Candidate's wife does not appear, people say she is too grand for them," put in Champion. "I'll stay with Philly, Kit," said Dolly. "Will you? You dear! But I know you want to come yourself." "Never mind. It doesn't matter." And so it was arranged. We found the theatre packed to suffocation.
'The Corinthian, another snarling watch-dog in the courts of the temple of Fame, followed instinctively the same injurious wake: it was a leisurely sarcastic anatomization, quite enough to blight any young candidate's prospects, supposing that mankind respected such a verdict; if not to make him cut his throat, granting that the victim should be sensitive as Keats.
Tomorrow the whole town will be looking for you, and Noonan will hear who you are and where you are. Then! Say, girl say, girl, it will be grist for our mill! Fancy the headlines all over the United States: 'GANG KIDNAPS CANDIDATE'S WIFE MYSTERY SHROUDS PLOT CANDIDATE REMINGTON IS SILENT." "But he won't be silent," protested the indignant Geneviève.
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