“I was just telling Miss Flint,” said that young gentleman, “that you would have been my candidate.”

Austen’s face relaxed.

“Thank you, Mr. Weare,” he said simply; and to Victoria, “Good night.”

At the corner, when she turned, she saw him still standing on the edge of the sidewalk, his tall figure thrown into bold relief by the light which flooded from the entrance.  The account of the Ripton meeting, substantially as it appeared in the State Tribune, was by a singular coincidence copied at once into sixty-odd weekly newspapers, and must have caused endless merriment throughout the State.  Congressman Fairplay’s prophecy of “negligible” was an exaggeration, and one gentleman who had rashly predicted that Mr. Crewe would get twenty delegates out of a thousand hid himself for shame.  On the whole, the “monumental farce” forecast seemed best to fit the situation.  A conference was held at Leith between the candidate, Mr. Tooting, and the Honourable Timothy Watling of Newcastle, who was preparing the nominating speech, although the convention was more than two months distant.  Mr. Watling was skilled in rounded periods of oratory and in other things political; and both he and Mr. Tooting reiterated their opinion that there was no particle of doubt about Mr. Crewe’s nomination.

“But we’ll have to fight fire with fire,” Mr. Tooting declared.  It was probably an accident that he happened to kick, at this instant, Mr. Watling under cover of the table.  Mr. Watling was an old and valued friend.

“Gentlemen,” said Mr. Crewe, “I haven’t the slightest doubt of my nomination, either.  I do not hesitate to say, however, that the expenses of this campaign, at this early stage, seem to me out of all proportion.  Let me see what you have there.”

The Honourable Timothy Wading had produced a typewritten list containing some eighty towns and wards, each followed by a name and the number of the delegates therefrom—­and figures.

“They’d all be enthusiastic Crewe men—­if they could be seen by the right party,” declared Mr. Tooting.

Mr. Crewe ran his eye over the list.

“Whom would you suggest to see ’em?” he asked coldly.

“There’s only one party I know of that has much influence over ’em,” Mr. Tooting replied, with a genial but deferential indication of his friend.

At this point Mr. Crewe’s secretary left the room on an errand, and the three statesmen went into executive session.  In politics, as in charity, it is a good rule not to let one’s right hand know what the left hand doeth.  Half an hour later the three emerged into the sunlight, Mr. Tooting and Mr. Watling smoking large cigars.

“You’ve got a great lay-out here, Mr. Crewe,” Mr. Watling remarked.  “It must have stood you in a little money, eh?  Yes, I’ll get mileage books, and you’ll hear from me every day or two.”