By five in the morning, say, we shall know about Lord William.
If he can't leave his bed--and I'll bet he can't--I suggest that the Major
steps down, pays an early call, and tells Parson the simple truth from
beginning to end."

"An excellent suggestion!" put in Mr. Newte. "I was about to make it
myself. There's nothing like telling the truth, after all: and I'll take
care it doesn't get about the town till the poll's closed."

Well, so it was arranged: and early next morning, after dressing himself
very carefully and making sure that Lord William couldn't leave his room
(he was as yellow as an egg, poor fellow, with a kind of mild janders),
away the Major starts upon his errand, promising to be back by seven, to
be driven down to the poll behind a brass band.

On the stroke of eight, when Roger Newte, as Mayor and Returning Officer,
declared the poll open, down the street came the blue-and-gold band, with
Dr. Macann and Mr. Saule behind it bowing and smiling in a two-horse shay,
and a fine pillaloo of supporters. They cheered like mad to find
themselves first in the field, though disappointed in their hearts
(I believe), having counted on a turn-up with the opposition band, just to
start the day sociably. The Tory candidates climbed the hustings, and
there the Doctor fired off six speeches and Mr. Saule a couple, while the
votes came rolling in like pennies at the door of a menagerie. And still
no sign of the Whigs, nor sound of any band from the direction of
Tregoose. By half-past eight Roger Newte was looking nervous, and began
to send off small boys to hurry his friends up. Towards nine o'clock
Dr. Macann made another speech, and set the crowd roaring with
"'Tis the voice of the sluggard," out of Dr. Watts's hymn-book.
"But I don't even hear his voice!" said he, very facetious-like: and
"Seriously, gentlemen, my Whig friends might be more careful of your
feelings. We know that they consider Ardevora their own: but they might
at least avoid insulting the British Liberty they have injured,"--telling
words, these, I can assure you. "Nor," he went on, "is it quite fair
treatment of our worthy Mayor here, who cannot be expected, single-handed,
to defy you as he defied the Court of King's Bench and treat your votes as
he treated your Rate List." Newte had to stand there and swallow this,
though it was poison to him, and he swore next day he'd willingly spend
ten years in the pit of the wicked for getting quits