Hammond, the editor, subsequently penned that
significant paragraph which next morning attracted all eyes.
On returning to supper, Mr. Liversedge found his wife and Denzil in
conversation with Eustace Glazzard. With the latter he had a bare
acquaintance; from Denzil's report, he was disposed to think of him
as a rather effeminate old-young man of metropolitan type.
"Well," he exclaimed, when greetings were over, "I don't think you
will want for an audience to-morrow, Denzil. We are summoning
Polterham indiscriminately."
Glazzard had of course heard of the coming lecture. He wore a smile,
but was taciturn.
"Pray heaven I don't make an exhibition of myself!" cried Denzil,
with an air of sufficient confidence.
"Shall I send coffee to your bedroom, to-night?" asked his sister,
with merry eyes.
"Too late for writing it out. It must be inspiration I know what I
want to say, and I don't think the sea of Polterham faces will
disturb me."
He turned sharply to his brother-in-law.
"Are you still in the same mind on that matter we spoke of this
afternoon?"
"Decidedly!"
"Glazzard, what should you say if I came forward as Radical
candidate for Polterham?"
There was silence. Glazzard fixed his eyes on the opposite wall; his
smile was unchanged.
"I see no objection," he at length replied. The tones were rather
thick, and ended in a slight cough.
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