Leicester laughed bitterly—his old cynical laugh.
"Oh! I see," he said, "the hero of one day is the criminal of the next. Of course, three years' service and hundreds of pounds spent go for nothing. Well, I might have expected it."
"One of the chief planks of our political platform is temperance reform," said Mr. Grayburn. "How can the people believe in your sincerity?"
Again Leicester laughed.
"If I were a brewer, and made a huge income out of the drink, I should be believed in," he said.
"Possibly, if you did not appear in——"
"Exactly. My great sin is, not that I drink whisky, but that I happened to drink it at the wrong time. Why, my dear fellow, I have seen you in this very room hilarious by the whisky you have drunk at my expense. I have heard you sing comic songs in most melodious tones, and I have had to send for a cab to take you home."
"But never in public," said Mr. Grayburn uneasily.
"Just so. I see my failing. Mr. Grayburn, allow me to congratulate you on your high moral standard. Drink as much as you like, only don't let any one know it."
"Look here, Mr. Leicester," said the other. "I am as sorry for this as any man, and if I only considered myself—well, things would be different. But I'm only one. There are these teetotalers to think of, and they are a strong party here. I tell you the people are mad with you; if you appeared outside the hotel now, you'd be hooted. If you appeared at a meeting you'd be hissed off the platform; nay, more, I don't believe you'd be safe to go into the streets. You'd be pelted with rotten eggs, and the refuse of the town."