Never had the Hon. Member for Morroway been so deeply engrossed in the business of politics. Never had he applied himself so sedulously to the successful culmination of his vast schemes and secret projects, or neglected for so lengthy a period the gentler pursuits that so intrigued him. It was rumoured in some quarters that he had reformed. The rumour was not received with universal satisfaction, for the penitent has only the applause of the devotee who reclaims him.
Howarth and Turner watched him with mingled concern and respect, and wondered as to the nature of his game. After the entry of the United States into the War, and when the outcome was a foregone conclusion, these two gentlemen became somewhat apprehensive as to the future of the Party (and incidentally their own place in the political sun). The rumours of Sir Robert’s resignation moved them profoundly.
“Of course,” said Turner, as the three sat in Mr. Sullivan’s cheerful office, “Sir Adrian Grant will be a candidate, but I don’t believe he has the ghost of a chance. It looks to me like a walk-over for Dilling. He’ll march to the seat of honour, terrible as an army with banners.”
“Yes,” agreed Howarth. “I don’t know who’s going to stop him. That damned silly boost of yours, Sullivan, has done us in the eye, if you ask me.”
Mr. Sullivan examined the contents of his glass against the pale spring twilight, and remarked that he was always glad to hear the opinions of his friends, even though he had not asked for them. In the present instance, however, he seemed to detect some thing monstrous and repetitive.
“Sure, I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,” announced Howarth, warmly. “What’s going to keep him from stepping into the P. M.’s shoes, if we have to go to the country? Hasn’t he made good! Don’t the people think he’s a little tin god? Hasn’t he got a lot of useful experience out of the last few years?”
“All because of this Minister business,” supplemented Turner. “Except for that, we could have kept him down. He wouldn’t have had a chance.”
“But now, as matters stand, he’ll walk in, put over the Elevator project, and . . .”
“. . . the E. D. Company will flourish like a green bay tree, and where will our little plans come in?” demanded Turner, bitterly. “If you want to eat honey in peace, say the Russians, you must first kill all the bees.”
Mr. Sullivan nodded, but preserved an inscrutable silence.