But at four o’clock several gentlemen with rosettes in their button-holes and _Signal_ posters in their hands arrived important and panting at the fair-ground at Oldcastle and announced that the programme had been altered at the last moment in order to defeat certain feared machinations of the unscrupulous _Daily_. The cavalcade was to be split into three groups, one of which, the chief, was to enter Hanbridge by a "back road" and the other two were to go to Bursley and Longshaw respectively. In this manner the forces of advertisement would be distributed and the chief parts of the district equally honoured. The special linen banners, pennons, and ribbons—bearing the words "Signal: Thirty-fifth Anniversary," etc.—had already been hung, and planted, and draped about the gilded summits of the chariots. And after some delay the processions were started separating at the bottom of the Cattle-market. The head of the Hanbridge part of the procession consisted of an enormous car of Jupiter, with six wheels and thirty-six paregorical figures (as the clown used to say), and drawn by six pie-bald steeds guided by white reins. This coach had a windowed interior (at the greater fairs it sometimes served as a box-office), and in the interior one of the delegates of the _Signal_ had fixed himself; from it he directed the paths of the procession. It would be futile longer to conceal that the delegate of the _Signal_ in the bowels of the car of Jupiter was not honestly a delegate of the _Signal_ at all. He was, indeed, Denry Machin, and none other. From this single fact it will be seen to what extent the representatives of great organs had forgotten what was due to their dignity and to public decency. Ensconced in his lair, Denry directed the main portion of the _Signal’s_ advertising procession by all manner of discreet lanes round the skirts of Hanbridge and so into the town from the hilly side. And ultimately the ten vehicles halted in Crapper Street, to the joy of the simple inhabitants. Denry emerged and wandered innocently towards the offices of his paper, which were close by. It was getting late. The first yelling of the imprisoned _Daily_ boys was just beginning to rise on the autumn air. Suddenly Denry was accosted by a young man. "Hello, Machin!" cried the young man. "What have you shaved your beard off for? I scarcely knew you." "I just thought I would, Swetnam," said Denry, who was obviously discomposed. It was the youngest of the Swetnam boys; he and Denry had taken a sort of curt fancy to one another. "I say," said Swetnam confidentially, as if obeying a swift impulse, "I did hear that the _Signal_ people meant to collar all your chaps this afternoon, and I believe they have done. Hear that now?" (Swetnam’s father was exceedingly intimate with the _Signal_ people.) "I know," Denry replied. "But I mean—papers and all." "I know," said Denry. "Oh!" murmured Swetnam.