"I assure you we'll only report faithfully what we have seen," was the reply. "But, really, I don't think there is any need for newspaper reports, the people have seen for themselves."
With all speed Leicester was taken back to the hotel, protesting all the while that he wished to address his faithful followers, and warn them against the evils of drink. Presently, when he reached his room, he rang the bell.
"Boll whisky, James," he said. "Gen'l'men, le's drink 'elth party—sobriety 'n' freedom."
"No, Mr. Leicester," said the chairman of the political organisation which had accepted him as their candidate, "you have drunk too much whisky already. You have not only disgraced yourself, but you've disgraced your party. You've ruined our chances of winning this election, you have made us the byword of our opponents, and of the country."
"Qui' m'stak'n, gen'l'men; sob'r's judge. Wha'! Rafford Lester drunk? I cu'nn be drunk if I tried. Whisky cu'nn do it. Le's 'ave a drink!"
A doctor entered the room, and came to his side.
"They say I'm drunk, doctor. Tell 'em wha' fools they are. Tell 'em I'm avocate ov temp'rance."
"Get him to bed," said the doctor. He had been a supporter of Leicester's, and was disgusted at what had taken place. "Here, take this," he said, pouring some liquid into a glass.
"Is it whisky, docker? No, thank you. I'm ple'ged t'totlerr. I never tush cursed stuff."
"Drink!" said the doctor sternly.