Edwin shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Big James.
“I’ve been up with him all night,” Edwin told him.
“I wonder if you’d mind dropping me a line to Glasgow, sir, if anything happens. I can give you the address. If it isn’t—”
“Certainly, if you like.” He tried to be nonchalant “When are you going?”
“I did think of getting to Crewe before noon, sir. As soon as I’ve seen to this—” He cocked his eye at the copy for the poster.
“Oh, you needn’t bother about that,” said Edwin carelessly. “Go now if you want to.”
“I’ve got time, sir. Mr Curtenty’s coming for me at nine o’clock to drive me to th’ polling-booth.”
This was the first time that Edwin had ever heard Big James talk of his private politics. The fact was that Big James was no more anxious than Jos Curtenty and Osmond Orgreave to put himself under the iron heel of his fellow working-man.
“And what’s your colour, James?” His smile was half a sneer.