His brother believed that he was spending the evening with an acquaintance in a neighbouring town; he had said he should probably be very late, and a side door was to be left unbarred that he might admit himself with a latch-key.
But for a policeman here and there, the streets were desolate.

Wherever the lamplight fell upon a wall or hoarding, it illumined election placards, with the names of the candidates in staring letters, and all the familiar vulgarities of party advertising.

"Welwyn-Baker and the Honour of Old England!"-- "Vote for Quarrier, the Friend of the Working Man!"-- "No Jingoism!" "The Constitution in Danger! Polterham to the Rescue!" These trumpetings to the battle restored Glazzard's self-satisfaction; he smiled once more, and walked on with lighter step.
Just outside the town, in a dark narrow road, he was startled by the sudden rising of a man's figure.

A voice exclaimed, in thick, ebrious tones: "Who are you for?
What's you're colour ?" "Who are _you_ for ?" called out Glazzard, in return, as he walked past.
The politician--who had seemingly been asleep in the ditch--raised himself to his full height and waved his arms about.
"I'm a Radical!--Quarrier for ever!--Come on, one and all of you--I'm ready: fist or argument, it's all one to me!--You and your Welwyn-Baker--gurr! What's _he_ ever done for the people ?--that's what _I_ want to know!--Ya-oo-oo-oo! Quarrier for ever!--Down with the aristocrats as wants to make war at the expense of the working man! What's England coming to ?--tell me that! You've no principles, you haven't, you Tory skunks; you've not half a principle among you .-- I'm a man of principle, I am, and I vote for national morality, I do!--You're running away, are you ?--Ya-oo-oo!--stop and fight it out, if you're a man!--Down with 'em, boys! Down with 'em!--Quarrier for ever!" The shouts of hiccoughy enthusiasm came suddenly to an end, and Glazzard, looking back, saw that, in an attempt to run, the orator had measured his length in the mud.
By three o'clock he was seated in his bedroom, very tired but not much disposed to turn into bed.

He had put a match to the fire, for his feet were numbed with cold, in spite of a long walk.