He was a
young man with a long, sallow face, carefully oiled and parted hair, and
a resonant taste in dress. A bundle of papers graced his hand, and his
air was parliamentary.
"Wis Mister Winterham aware that Mister Haystoun had contradicted
himself on two occasions lately, as he would proceed to show?"
George heard him patiently, said that now he was aware of the fact, but
couldn't for the life of him see what the deuce it mattered.
"After Mister Winterham's ignoring of my pint," went on the young man,
"I proceed to show . . ." and with all the calmness in the world he
displayed to his own satisfaction how Mr. Lewis Haystoun was no fit
person to represent the constituency. He profaned the Sabbath, which
this gentleman professed to hold dear, he was notorious for drunkenness,
and his conduct abroad had not been above suspicion.
George was on his feet in a moment, his confusion gone, his face very
red, and his shoulders squared for a fight. The man saw the effect of
his words, and promptly sat down.
"Get up," said George abruptly.
The man's face whitened and he shrank back among his friends.
"Get up; up higher--on the top of the seat, that everybody may see and
hear you! Now repeat very carefully all that over again."
The man's confidence had deserted him. He stammered something about
meaning no harm.
"You called my friend a drunken blackguard.
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