"Wait a bit, my boys!"
Thus an hour passed without further news. Then the country results began to arrive. Among the first was that from Medland's own constituency: he was beaten by above a hundred votes. Anticipated as this issue was, it was greeted with a loud groan, soon changed to an exultant cheer when it was declared that Coxon had lost his seat; no event, short of the defeat of Kilshaw himself, would have pleased the crowd so much; even in the Club men seemed very resigned; only Coxon's little band mourned the fall of their chief.
"A facer for him," remarked the Captain. Mr. Kilshaw smiled.
"Coxon generally falls on his feet," he remarked.
This victory was almost the last excuse the crowd found for cheering. The figures came in thick and fast now, and the tale they told was of Medland's utter defeat. By twelve o'clock the issue in seventy-five seats was declared; of the other five, four were safe for Sir Robert; and Medland had only twenty-nine supporters. Puttock and Sir Robert were returned, and Kilshaw had a triumphant majority. His was among the last announcements, and it was greeted with an angry roar of such volume that the Club window filled in a moment. The crowd, tired of their
disappointing watch, turned away from the Jubilee Hall, and flocked together underneath the window.
"Why don't you return thanks?" asked Captain Heseltine.
Kilshaw was drinking a glass of brandy and soda-water. He jumped up, glass in hand, and, going to the window, bowed to the angry mob and drank a toast to his own success before their eyes. Mr. Todd's gross bulk pushed its way to the front.
"Come down here," he shouted, "and talk to us, if you dare!"
Kilshaw smilingly shook his head.