MAGGIE. Did you say you had lost, John? Of course you would lose the
first time, dear John. Six years. Very well, we'll begin another six
to-night. You'll win yet. [Fiercely] Never give in, John, never give
in!

[The roar of the multitude breaks out again and comes rolling
nearer.]

DAVID. I think he's coming.

[JAMES is fired into the room like a squeezed onion.]

JAMES. He's coming!

[They may go on speaking, but through the clang outside none could
hear. The populace seems to be trying to take the committee room by
assault. Out of the scrimmage a man emerges dishevelled and bursts
into the room, closing the door behind him. It is JOHN SHAND in a
five guinea suit, including the hat. There are other changes in him
also, for he has been delving his way through loamy ground all those
years. His right shoulder, which he used to raise to pound a path
through the crowd, now remains permanently in that position. His
mouth tends to close like a box. His eyes are tired, they need some
one to pull the lids over them and send him to sleep for a week. But
they are honest eyes still, and faithful, and could even light up his
face at times with a smile, if the mouth would give a little help.]

JOHN [clinging to a chair that he may not fly straight to heaven].
I'm in; I'm elected. Majority two hundred and forty-four; I'm John