. . . Now if I was to say 'Satan,' or if I was to
say that he was a party possessed--Well, any way, Sir Roderick, I
wish we had someone else for a candidate, and I don't see myself
happy, these next few days, working on Committee for him."
"Well, you have the advantage of me," said I. "You saw him
full-face, whereas I had to study him from the rear. From the rear
he looked funny enough. . . . But look here," I went on; "if there
were any slate loose on the man's roof, as you're hinting, you may
bet that a great Furnishing Company in Tottenham Court Road wouldn't
be taking any risks with him as Chairman of Directors."
"All I can say, sir," he muttered, shaking his head, "is that I don't
like it. And, anyway, he isn't a gentleman."
The Chairman had left us to say good night to Mr. Farrell, whose car
was just then announced. I went across, too, to shake hands and wish
him good luck on polling-day. As our eyes met he started, came out
of the torpor in which he had been gazing about him, and bowed to me
in best shop-walker fashion.
"Ah, Sir Roderick!" he said, not very coherently.
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