couples.'
'What about?'
'How do I know? Perhaps he queried her statement that the stars were God's daisy chain.'
I had to admit that there was something in this theory. Madeline's breach with Gussie Fink-Nottle had been caused by her drawing his attention to the sunset and saying sunsets always made her think of the Blessed Damozel leaning out from the gold bar of heaven, and he said, 'Who?' and she said, 'The Blessed Damozel', and he said 'Never heard of her', adding that sunsets made him sick, and so did the Blessed Damozel. A girl with her outlook would be bound to be touchy about stars and daisy chains.
'It's probably over by now,' said the ancestor. 'All the same, you'd better keep away from the girl. Spode's an impulsive man. He might slosh you.'
'He said he would.'
'He used the word slosh?'
'No, but he assured me he would butter me over the front lawn and dance on the remains with hobnailed boots.'
'Much the same thing. So I would be careful if I were you. Treat her with distant civility. If you see any more gnats headed in her direction, hold their coats and wish them luck, but restrain the impulse to mix in.'
'I will.'
'I hope I have relieved your fears?'
'You have, old flesh and blood.'
'Then why the furrows in your brow?'
'Oh. those? It's Ginger.
'What's Ginger?'
'He's why my brow is furrowed.' It shows how profoundly the thought of Madeline Bassett possibly coming into circulation again had moved me that it was only now that I had remembered Bingley and what he had said about the certainty of Ginger finishing as an also-ran in the election. I burned with shame and remorse that I should have allowed my personal troubles to make me shove him down to the foot of the agenda paper in this scurvy manner. Long ere this I ought to have been inviting Aunt Dahlia's views on his prospects. Not doing so amounted to letting a pal down, a thing I pride myself on never being guilty of. Little wonder that I b'd with s and r.
I hastened to make amends, if those are what you make when you have done the dirty on a fellow you love like a brother.
'Did I ever mention a bloke called Bingley to you?'
'If you did, I've forgotten.'
'He was my personal attendant for a brief space when Jeeves and I differed about me playing the banjolele. That time when I had a cottage down at Chufnell Regis.'
'Oh yes, he set it on fire, didn't he?'
'While tight as an owl. It was burned to a cinder, as was my banjolele.
'I've got him placed now. What about him? '
'He lives in Market Snodsbury. I met him this morning and happened to mention that I was canvassing for Ginger.'
'If you can call it canvassing.'
'And he told me I was wasting my time. He advised me to have a substantial bet on Ma McCorkadale. He said Ginger hadn't an earthly.'
'He's a fool.'
'I must say I've always thought so, but he spoke as if he had inside information.'
'What on earth information could he have? An election isn't a horse race where you get tips from the stable cat. I don't say it may not be a close thing, but Ginger ought to win all right. He has a secret weapon.'
'Repeat that, if you wouldn't mind. I don't think I got it.'
'Ginger defies competition because he has a secret weapon.'
'Which is?'
'Spode.
' 'Spode?'
'My lord Sidcup. Have you ever heard him speak?'
'I did just now.'
'In public, fool.'
'Oh, in public. No, I haven't.'
'He's a terrific orator, as I told you, only you've probably forgotten.'
This seemed likely enough to me. Spode at one time had been one of those Dictators, going about at the head of a band of supporters in footer shorts shouting 'Heil Spode', and to succeed in that line you have to be able to make speeches.
