There was as yet
no need to break anyone's head, for though the sharpest lookout was kept
for any signs of the philosophic eye, it was only to be found--outside
Courtier--in the perambulators of babies, in one old man who rode a
bicycle waveringly along the street and stopped to ask a policeman what
was the matter in the town, and in two rather green-faced fellows who
trundled barrows full of favours both blue and yellow.
But though Courtier eyed the 'facts' with such suspicion, the keenness
of everyone about the business struck him as really splendid. They went
at it with a will. Having looked forward to it for months, they were
going to look back on it for months. It was evidently a religious
ceremony, summing up most high feelings; and this seemed to one who was
himself a man of action, natural, perhaps pathetic, but certainly no
matter for scorn.
It was already late in the afternoon when there came debouching into the
high street a long string of sandwichmen, each bearing before and behind
him a poster containing these words beautifully situated in large dark
blue letters against a pale blue ground:
"NEW COMPLICATIONS.
DANGER NOT PAST.
VOTE FOR MILTOUN AND THE GOVERNMENT,
AND SAVE THE EMPIRE."
Courtier stopped to look at them with peculiar indignation.
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