ey
alone were taking him to Westminster. Nor had they apparently for
the most part much trouble with electors, who, finding uncertainty
distasteful, passionately desired to be assured that the country could
at once be saved by little yellow facts or little blue facts, as the
case might be; who had, no doubt, a dozen other good reasons for being
on the one side or the other; as, for instance, that their father had
been so before them; that their bread was buttered yellow or buttered
blue; that they had been on the other side last time; that they had
thought it over and made up their minds; that they had innocent blue
or naive yellow beer within; that his lordship was the man; or that the
words proper to their mouths were 'Chilcox for Bucklandbury'; and, above
all, the one really creditable reason, that, so far as they could tell
with the best of their intellect and feelings, the truth at the moment
was either blue or yellow.

The narrow high street was thronged with voters. Tall policemen
stationed there had nothing to do. The certainty of all, that they were
going to win, seemed to keep everyone in good humour. There was as yet
no need to break anyone's head, for though the sharpest lookout was kept
for any signs of the philosophic eye, it was only to be found--outside
Courtier--in the perambulators of babies, in one old man who rode a
bicycle waveringly along the street and stopped to ask a policeman what
was the matter in the town, and in two rather green-faced fellows who
trundled barrows full of favours both blue and yellow.

But though Courtier eyed the 'facts' with such suspicion, the keenness
of everyone about the business struck him as really splendid. They went
at it with a will. Having looked forward to it for months, they were
going to look back on it for months. It was evidently a religious
ceremony, summing up most high feelings; and this seemed to one who was
himself a man of action, natural, perhaps pathetic, but certainly no
matter for scorn.

It was already late in the afternoon when there came debouching into the
high street a long string of sandwichmen, each bearing before and behind
him a poster containing these words beautifully situated in large dark
blue letters against a pale blue ground:

"NEW COMPLICATIONS.
DANGER NOT PAST.
VOTE FOR MILTOUN AND THE GOVERNMENT,
AND SAVE THE EMPIRE."

Courtier stopped to look at them w