Mrs. Pomfret, with her foresight and her talent for management, had given the Ladies’ Auxiliary notice that they were not to go farther forward than the twelfth row.  She herself, with some especially favoured ones, occupied a box, which was the nearest thing to being on the stage.  One unforeseen result of Mrs. Pomfret’s arrangement was that the first eleven rows were vacant, with the exception of one old man and five or six schoolboys.  Such is the courage of humanity in general!  On the arrival of the candidate, instead of a surging crowd lining the sidewalk, he found only a fringe of the curious, whose usual post of observation was the railroad station, standing silently on the curb.  Within, Mr. Tooting’s duties as an usher had not been onerous.  He met Mr. Crewe in the vestibule, and drew him into the private office.

“The railroad’s fixed ’em,” said the manager, indignantly, but sotto voce; “I’ve found that out.  Hilary Vane had the word passed around town that if they came, somethin’ would fall on ’em.  The Tredways and all the people who own factories served notice on their men that if they paid any attention to this meeting they’d lose their job.  But say, the people are watchin’ you, just the same.”

“How many people are in there?” Mr. Crewe demanded.

“Twenty-seven, when I came out,” said Mr. Tooting, with commendable accuracy.  “But it wants fifteen minutes to eight.”

“And who,” asked Mr. Crewe, “is to introduce me?”

An expression of indignation spread over Mr. Tooting’s face.

“There ain’t a man in Ripton’s got sand enough!” he exclaimed.  “Sol Gridley was a-goin’ to, but he went to New York on the noon train.  I guess it’s a pleasure trip,” Mr. Tooting hinted darkly.

“Why,” said Mr. Crewe, “he’s the fellow—­”

“Exactly,” Mr. Tooting replied, “and he did get a lot of ’em, travelling about.  But Sol has got to work on the quiet, you understand.  He feels he can’t come out right away.”

“And how about Amos Ricketts?  Where’s he?”

“Amos,” said Mr. Tooting, regretfully, “was taken very sudden about five o’clock.  One of his spells come on, and he sent me word to the Ripton House.  He had his speech all made up, and it was a good one, too.  He was going to tell folks pretty straight how the railroad beat him for mayor.”

Mr. Crewe made a gesture of disgust.

“I’ll introduce myself,” he said.  “They all know me, anyhow.”

“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?  More ladies—­ladies in groups of two and three and five! ladies of Ripton whose husbands, for some unexplained reason, have stayed at home; and Mr. Tooting, as he watched them with mingled feelings, became a woman’s suffragist on the spot.  He dived into the private office once more, where he found Mr. Crewe seated with his legs crossed, calmly reading a last winter’s playbill. (Note for a more complete biography.)