certain of one thing. You've done all the work a man ought to do in one
day. Now listen to me. Here's my carriage waiting, and you're going
straight home with me to have a bite and a glass of wine. We can't
afford to lose our second agent, and I can see what's the matter with
you. You're as pale as a ghost, and no wonder. You've been at it all
day and never a break."

The young man called Brooks had not the energy to frame a refusal, which
he knew would be resented. He took down his overcoat, and stuffed the
letters into his pocket.

"You're very good," he said. "I'll come up for an hour with pleasure."

They passed out together into the street, and Mr. Bullsom opened the
door of his carriage.

"In with you, young man," he exclaimed. "Home, George!"

Kingston Brooks leaned back amongst the cushions with a little sigh of
relief.

"This is very restful," he remarked. "We have certainly had a very busy
day. The inside of electioneering may be disenchanting, but it's jolly
hard work."

Mr. Bullsom sat with clasped hands in front of him resting upon that
slight protuberance which denoted the advent of a stomach. He had
thrown away the cigar which he had lit in the committee-room. Mrs.
Bullsom did not approve of smoking in the covered wagonette, which she
frequently honoured with her presence.