“What’s your name?” cried he.

“It used to be Bethel,” replied the wild man, holding out his hand to Mr. Dill.  “So you are in the world, James, and kicking yet?”

“And hope to kick in it for some time to come,” replied Mr. James.  “Where did you hail from last?  A settlement at the North Pole?”

“Didn’t get quite as far.  What’s the row here?”

“When did you arrive, Mr. Otway?” inquired old Dill.

“Now.  Four o’clock train.  I say, what’s up?”

“An election; that’s all,” said Mr. Ebenezer.  “Attley went and kicked the bucket.”

“I don’t ask about the election; I heard all that at the railway station,” returned Otway Bethel, impatiently.  “What’s this?” waving his hand at the crowd.

“One of the candidates wasting breath and words—­Levison.”

“I say,” repeated Otway Bethel, looking at Mr. Dill, “wasn’t it rather—­rather of the ratherest, for him to oppose Carlyle?”

“Infamous!  Contemptible!” was the old gentleman’s excited answer.  “But he’ll get his deserts yet, Mr. Otway; they have already begun.  He was treated to a ducking yesterday in Justice Hare’s green pond.”

“And he did look a miserable devil when he came out, trailing through the streets,” added Mr. Ebenezer, while Otway Bethel burst into a laugh.  “He was smothered into some hot blankets at the Raven, and a pint of burnt brandy put into him.  He seems all right to-day.”

“Will he go in and win?”

“Chut!  Win against Carlyle!  He has not the ghost of a chance; and government—­if it is the government who put him on—­must be a pack of fools; they can’t know the influence of Carlyle.  Bethel, is that style of costume the fashion where you come from?”

“For slender pockets.  I’ll sell ’em to you now, James, at half price.  Let’s get a look at this Levison, though.  I have never seen the fellow.”

Another interruption of the crowd, even as he spoke, caused by the railway van bringing up some luggage.  They contrived, in the confusion, to push themselves to the front, not far from Sir Francis.  Otway Bethel stared at him in unqualified amazement.

“Why, what brings him here?  What is he doing?”

“Who?”

He pointed his finger.  “The one with the white handkerchief in his hand.”

“That is Sir Francis.”

“No!” uttered Bethel, a whole world of astounded meaning in his tone.  “By Jove! He Sir Francis Levison?”

At that moment their eyes met, Francis Levison’s and Otway Bethel’s.  Otway Bethel raised his shaggy hat in salutation, and Sir Francis appeared completely scared.  Only for an instant did he lose his presence of mind.  The next, his eyeglass was stuck in his eye and turned on Mr. Bethel, with a hard, haughty stare; as much as to say, who are you, fellow, that you should take such a liberty?  But his cheeks and lips were growing as white as marble.