Edwin shook his head.
"I'm sorry, sir," said Big James.
"I've been up with him all night," Edwin told him.
"I wonder if you'd mind dropping me a line to Glasgow, sir, if anything
happens. I can give you the address. If it isn't--"
"Certainly, if you like." He tried to be nonchalant "When are you
going?"
"I did think of getting to Crewe before noon, sir. As soon as I've seen
to this--" He cocked his eye at the copy for the poster.
"Oh, you needn't bother about that," said Edwin carelessly. "Go now if
you want to."
"I've got time, sir. Mr Curtenty's coming for me at nine o'clock to
drive me to th' polling-booth."
This was the first time that Edwin had ever heard Big James talk of his
private politics. The fact was that Big James was no more anxious than
Jos Curtenty and Osmond Orgreave to put himself under the iron heel of
his fellow working-man.
"And what's _your_ colour, James?" His smile was half a sneer.
"If you'll pardon me saying so, sir, I'm for Her Most Gracious," Big
James answered with grave dignity.
Three journeymen, pretending to be busy, were listening with all ears
from the other side of a case.
"Oh!" exclaimed Edwin, dashed. "Well, that's all right!"
He walked straight out, put on his hat, and went to the Bleakridge
polling-station and voted Labour defiantly, as though with a personal
grievance against the polling-clerk. He had a vote, not as lessee of
the business premises, but as his father's lodger. He despised Labour;
he did not care what happened to Labour. In voting for Labour, he
seemed to have the same satisfaction as if from pique he had voted
against it because its stupidity had incensed him.
Then, instead of returning him to the shop, his legs took him home and
upstairs, and he lay down in his own room.
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