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 that tottering institution had not a look in, really. Its meetings were very tame affairs by comparison, even if the standard of speech-making was thought by some people to be higher. But little or no interest was taken in them; while at those of the unfilial young man, who was going to take away his father's Veto, there wasn't even standing room an hour before the proceedings began.

Undoubtedly it was going to be a signal triumph for the People's Cause. The Candidate combined so well with the rest of the Rovers' forwards that the Wolverhampton Wanderers were beaten on their own ground, and Manchester City were simply annihilated. "Deeds not Words" flamed forth in the Rag colors, a vivid orange, from every hoarding. If the Candidate only kept up his form, said those who knew (and there was a surprising amount of omniscience in Blackhampton just now), the Rovers were bound to win the Cup and Mr. Balsquith would make him Home Secretary immediately.

In spite of all the adulation he received, the Candidate remained very simple and modest about it all. Even after he had scored two goals against Sheffield Wednesday, he never attempted any particular flight of oratory. The Missus could do all that so much better. No doubt she could have done, but South-West Blackhampton was far too wise in its day and generation to