if he does—well, sir, as I say, the voting at this election will be very cross."
At this point the Member ventured tactfully to ask the name of the unknown power.
"Sir Josiah Munt," said Mr. Furley, impressively. "Blackhampton's Big Noise. In fact, sir," Mr. Furley became almost lyrical, "Blackhampton's Grand Old Man."
"You think there's a chance of Sir Josiah coming over?" The Member, for all his air of detachment, knew far more about local politics than appeared on the surface. "By Jove, that would be one up to us."
"You bet it would, Mr. Endor. Sir Josiah is not everybody's pretty boy, but he carries weight in this city. He's a very honest man and he's dead against 'graft.' It seems to me, sir, strictly between ourselves"—Mr. Ambrose Furley had all the shrewd penetration of a true Blackhamptonian—"that the U. P. is playing things up so high that there's a poss-i-bil-ity, so far as Sir Munt is concerned, that it may overreach itself if it doesn't watch it."
"Good news if it is so. Can you suggest a means, Mr. Furley, of taking advantage of the fact?"
"Well sir, let us get down to brass tacks. Sir Munt is a bit of a One. He can't be hustled. He can't be driven. But he can see as far through a brick wall as most people. And last evening, as he was leaving the Floral Hall after the Sacred Harmonic Society's annual performance of the Golden Legend in the com-
