It was on the eve of the election.
We carried the day as we had hoped, and easily, and there was a demand for Harlson that night which could not be refused with grace.

He was compelled to speak, and in the open air of a chill November evening.
He told me he felt ill.

When, late at night, we reached his home and he found Jean awaiting him, he turned to me and said: "It's all right, Alf.

I'll be myself again by morning.

I'm where all that is good for me is, and should be well in no time.