Part 93 (1/2)
They had been wasting the precious time running about all over the country, begging and praying for a candidate, and overlooking the fact that they had in their midst a gentleman--a fellow townsman, who, he believed, would have a better chance of success than any stranger.
Surely they would all agree--if they could only prevail upon him to stand--that Adam Sweater would be an ideal Liberal Candidate!
While Mr Rushton was speaking the drooping spirits of the Three Hundred were reviving, and at the name of Sweater they all began to clap their hands and stamp their feet. Loud shouts of enthusiastic approval burst forth, and cries of 'Good old Sweater' resounded through the room.
When Sweater rose to reply, the tumult died away as suddenly as it had commenced. He thanked them for the honour they were conferring upon him. There was no time to waste in words or idle compliments; rather than allow the Enemy to have a walk-over, he would accede to their request and contest the seat.
A roar of applause burst from the throats of the delighted Three Hundred.
Outside the hall in which the meeting was being held a large crowd of poverty-stricken Liberal working men, many of them wearing broken boots and other men's cast-off clothing, was waiting to hear the report of the slave-drivers' deputation, and as soon as Sweater had consented to be nominated, Didlum rushed and opened the window overlooking the street and shouted the good news down to the crowd, which joined in the cheering. In response to their demands for a speech, Sweater brought his obese carca.s.s to the window and addressed a few words to them, reminding them of the shortness of the time at their disposal, and intreating them to work hard in order that the Grand old Flag might be carried to victory.
At such times these people forgot all about unemployment and starvation, and became enthusiastic about 'Grand old Flags'. Their devotion to this flag was so great that so long as they were able to carry it to victory, they did not mind being poverty stricken and hungry and ragged; all that mattered was to score off their hated 'enemies' their fellow countrymen the Tories, and carry the grand old flag to victory. The fact that they had carried the flag to victory so often in the past without obtaining any of the spoils, did not seem to damp their ardour in the least. Being philanthropists, they were content--after winning the victory--that their masters should always do the looting.
At the conclusion of Sweater's remarks the philanthropists gave three frantic cheers and then someone in the crowd shouted 'What's the colour?' After a hasty consultation with Rushton, who being a 'master'
decorator, was thought to be an authority on colours--green--gra.s.s green--was decided upon, and the information was shouted down to the crowd, who cheered again. Then a rush was made to Sweater's Emporium and several yards of cheap green ribbon were bought, and divided up into little pieces, which they tied into their b.u.t.tonholes, and thus appropriately decorated, formed themselves into military order, four deep, and marched through all the princ.i.p.al streets, up and down the Grand Parade, round and round the Fountain, and finally over the hill to Windley, singing to the tune of 'Tramp, tramp, tramp, the Boys are marching':
'Vote, Vote, Vote for Adam Sweater!
Hang old Closeland on a tree!
Adam Sweater is our man, And we'll have him if we can, Then we'll always have the biggest loaf for tea.'
The spectacle presented by these men--some of them with grey heads and beards--as they marked time or tramped along singing this childish twaddle, would have been amusing if it had not been disgusting.
By way of variety they sang several other things, including:
'We'll hang ole Closeland On a sour apple tree,'
and
'Rally, Rally, men of Windley For Sweater's sure to win.'
As they pa.s.sed the big church in Quality Street, the clock began to strike. It was one of those that strike four chimes at each quarter of the hour. It was now ten o'clock so there were sixteen musical chimes:
Ding, dong! Ding Dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
Ding dong! Ding dong!
They all chanted A-dam Sweat-er' in time with the striking clock. In the same way the Tories would chant:
'Grab--all Close--land!
Grab--all Close--land!
Grab--all Close--land!
Grab--all Close--land!'
The town was soon deluged with mendacious literature and smothered with huge posters:
'Vote for Adam Sweater!