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 "Consulted the missus, have you?" inquired a business-like campaign manager.

"I have. The answer is in the affirmative."

Keble received a thump on the back that made him vividly conscious of the sort of thing he had now let himself in for. Could he thump, he wondered. The first attempt was not too great a success, but one would undoubtedly improve with practise.

"Now let's get down to tacks," said Mr. Goard, when further drinks had been consumed in honor of the event.

The delegates required a message to take back to party headquarters, and Keble dictated an outline of his political credo, the logic of which was warmed and colored in conformity with the ejaculated amendments of Pat Goard.

"Will that do the trick?" Keble finally asked.

"That'll do for a start," Mr. Goard replied, and Miriam went to transcribe her notes at the typewriter.

"Our best to the missus," said the manager half an hour later as he got into the car that had brought him to Hillside. "You couldn't have a better platform than her." Mr. Goard went on to express the opinion that it would be the "best fight ever put up", but added that "those birds took a lot of beating".

Keble promised to fight his hardest, and had a final word for the newspaper man. "Be sure to emphasize that it's a straight program of common