Part 28 (2/2)

It's a great position, Mr. Harrington, and I hope you'll do honor to it.”

”I hope so, indeed,” said John. ”Can I offer you a gla.s.s of wine, or anything else, Mr. Ballymolloy?”

”Indeed, and it's dirty weather, too,” said Patrick. ”Thank you, I'll take a little whiskey.”

John poured out a gla.s.s.

”You won't let me drink alone, Mr. Harrington?” inquired Patrick, holding his tumbler in his hand. To oblige him, after the manner of the country, John poured out a small gla.s.s of sherry, and put his lips to it.

Ballymolloy drained the whiskey to the last drop.

”You were not really thinking I would vote for Mr. Jobbins, were you now, Mr. Harrington?” he asked, with a sly look on his red face.

”I always hope that the men of my party are to be relied upon, Mr.

Ballymolloy,” said John, smiling politely.

”Very well, they are to be relied upon, sir. We are, every man of us, to the last drop of Christian blood in our blessed bodies,” said Patrick, with a gush of patriotic enthusiasm, at the same time holding out his heavy hand. Then he took his leave.

”You had better have said 'to the last drop of Bourbon whiskey in the blessed bottle!'” said John to himself when his visitor was gone. Then he sat down for a while to think over the situation.

”That man will vote against me yet,” he thought.

He was astonished to find himself nervous and excited for the first time in his life. With characteristic determination he went back to his desk, and continued the letter which the visit of the Irish elector had interrupted.

Meanwhile Mr. Patrick Ballymolloy was driven to the house of the Republican candidate, Mr. Jobbing.

CHAPTER XVI.

Sybil was right when she said the family politics at the Wyndhams' were disturbed. Indeed the disturbance was so great that Mrs. Wyndham was dressed and down-stairs before twelve o'clock, which had never before occurred in the memory of the oldest servant.

”It is too perfectly exciting, my dears,” she exclaimed as Joe and Sybil entered the room, followed--at a respectful distance by Ronald. ”I can't stand it one minute longer! How do you do, Mr. Surbiton?”

”What is the latest news?” asked Sybil.

”I have not heard anything for ever so long. Sam has gone round to see--perhaps he will be back soon. I do wish we had 'tickers' here in the house, as they do in New York; it _is_ such fun watching when anything is going on.”

She walked about the room as she talked, touching a book on one table and a photograph on another, in a state of great excitement. Ronald watched her in some surprise; it seemed odd to him that any one should take so much interest in a mere election. Joe and Sybil, who knew her better, made themselves at home.

It appeared that although Sam had gone to make inquiries, it was very improbable that anything would be known until late in the afternoon. There was to be a contest of some sort, but whether it would end in a single day, or whether Ballymolloy and his men intended to prolong the struggle for their own ends, remained to be seen.

Meanwhile Mrs. Wyndham walked about her drawing-room descanting upon the iniquities of political life, with an animation that delighted Joe and amused Ronald.

”Well, there is nothing for it, you see,” she said at last. ”Sam evidently does not mean to come home, and you must just stay here and have some lunch until he does.”

The three agreed, nothing loath to enjoying one another's company. There is nothing like a day spent together in waiting for an event, to bring out the characteristics of individuals. Mrs. Wyndham fretted and talked, and fretted again. Joe grew silent, pale, and anxious as the morning pa.s.sed, while Sybil and Ronald seemed to enjoy themselves extremely, and talked without ceasing. Outside the snow fell thick and fast as ever, and the drifts rose higher and higher.

”I do wish Sam would come back,” exclaimed Mrs. Wyndham at last, as she threw herself into an easy-chair, and looked at the clock.

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