At a little distance away, on the other side of a red flag, Henry Jonas, the large farmer of the district, and the speaker on whom my opponent chiefly relied, was seated upon a similar machine in a similar state of undress. It was apparent, however, even to us, that Mr. Bundercombe's progress was at least twice as rapid as his opponent's. "What on earth is it all about?" I exclaimed, absolutely bewildered. Eve, who was standing by my side, clasped her hands round my arm. "It seems to me," she murmured sweetly, "as if dad were trying his reaping machine against some one else's." I looked at her demure little smile and I looked at the field in which I recognized very many of my staunchest opponents. Then I looked at the marquee. The table there must have been set for at least a hundred people. Suddenly I received a shock. Seated underneath the hedge, hatless and coatless, with his hair in picturesque disorder, was Mr. Jonas' cousin, also a violent opponent of my politics, and a nonconformist. He had a huge tumbler by his side, which--seeing me--he raised to his lips. "Good old Walmsley!" he shouted out. "No politics to-day! Much too hot! Come in and see the reaping match." He took a long drink and I sat down in the car. "You know," I said to Mr. Ansell, who was standing on the front seat, "there'll be trouble about this!" Mr. Ansell was looking a little grave himself. "Is Mr. Bundercombe really the manufacturer of that machine?" he asked. "Of course he is!" Eve replied. "It's the one hobby of his life--or, rather, it used to be," she corrected herself hastily. "Even now, when he begins talking about his reaping machine he forgets everything else." Mr. Ansell hurried away and made a few inquiries. Meanwhile we watched the progress of the match. Every time Mr. Bundercombe had to turn he rocked in his seat and retained his balance only with difficulty. At every successful effort he was loudly cheered by a little group of following enthusiasts. Mr. Ansell returned, looking a little more cheerful. "Everything is being given by the Bundercombe Reaping Company," he announced, "and Mr. Bundercombe's city agent is on the spot prepared to book orders for the machine. It seems that Mr. Bundercombe has backed himself at ten to one in ten-pound notes to beat Mr. Jonas by half an hour, each taking half the field." "Who's ahead?" Eve asked excitedly. "Mr. Bundercombe is well ahead," Mr. Ansell replied, "and they say that he can do better still if he tries. It looks rather," Mr. Ansell concluded, dropping his voice, "as though he were trying to make the thing last out. Afterward they are all going to sit down to a free meal--that is, if any of them are able to sit down," he added, with a glance round the field. "Hello! Here's Harrison." Mr. Harrison, recognizing us, descended from his car and came across. He shook hands with Eve, at whom he glanced in a somewhat peculiar fashion.