“We never even considered him,” said Claude. “Somehow or other, he got overlooked. It’s always the way. Steggles overlooked him. We all overlooked him. But Eustace and I happened by the merest fluke to be riding through Lower Bingley this morning, and there was a wedding on at the church, and it suddenly struck us that it wouldn’t be a bad move to get a line on G. Hayward’s form, in case he might be a dark horse.”
“And it was jolly lucky we did,” said Eustace. “He delivered an address of twenty-six minutes by Claude’s stop-watch. At a village wedding, mark you! What’ll he do when he really extends himself!”
“There’s only one thing to be done, Bertie,” said Claude. “You must spring some more funds, so that we can hedge on Hayward and save ourselves.”
“But——”
“Well, it’s the only way out.”
“But I say, you know, I hate the idea of all that money we put on Heppenstall being chucked away.”
“What else can you suggest? You don’t suppose the Rev. can give this absolute marvel a handicap and win, do you?”
“I’ve got it!” I said.
“What?”
“I see a way by which we can make it safe for our nominee. I’ll pop over this afternoon, and ask him as a personal favour to preach that sermon of his on Brotherly Love on Sunday.”