“Yes.”
“That’s awfully sudden. I had a visit from him not ten days ago. He was quite a young man, and, for his party, a rising one.”
“I cannot agree with you there, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said my guest in his usual pompous style. “His speech—if speech it might be called—on the malt question was a tissue of illogical absurdity. But now, Mabel, I have a big surprise for you. The great conservative party—I call them great, sir, although in opposition—have not been idle, and already has a candidate been selected.”
“That’s rather quick work, Mr. Hawthorne.”
“Military machinery, sir—one man down, the next man forward. And whom do you think they have selected, Mabel?”
“How should I know, papa?”
“Guess.”
“I cannot. Some of the rejected at the last dissolution.”
“No; guess again. A friend of yours.”
“A friend of mine?” somewhat surprised.