t 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."

And now we are come to the infinitely difficult task of relating in a
whirlwind manner the story of a whirlwind campaign--a campaign that was
to make the oldest resident sit up and take notice. In the space of four
short weeks a miracle had begun to show itself. First, there was the
Kingston meeting, with the candidate, his thumb in his watch-pocket,
seated in a