“He may be a sailor or a policeman,” said Polly; “you find them at all sorts of queer times. But mind: if he is in bed you must rout him out all the same; he has been visited a great many times.”
John Hughes, to my surprise and alarm, was on his door-step, smoking a pipe. I gathered together in my head all the directions that Reginald had given me, and we conversed as follows:
John Hughes: “Don’t know anything about him. What’s his views on this ’ere Irish business?”
Me (Aside: “Dash it! Reginald never told me that!”) “Oh, you had better ask him yourself. That is just the sort of question he delights in. Do you know Canon Black?”
John Hughes: “Never heard of ’im.”
Me: “Oh, well, I will send Mr. Ashfield to you. You are Conservative, aren’t you?”
John Hughes: “I’m not particular. I vote for the best man.”
Me (eagerly): “Oh, he’s far the best. You see, he has done so much work before. But he will call on you, and then you will be able to hear everything he says.”
John Hughes: “You needn’t trouble. They all talk alike. I’ll make inquiries, and if I find he’s the best man I’ll vote for him.... No, I don’t want no fetchin’; I can walk. And I’ll vote one way or the other. We ’ave the benefit of the ballot, you see.”