"Hullo, Peter, what are you doing in this dusty place? I thought you were loose in the theatre." "Was," Peter briefly corrected. "Then you got tired?" "No, I squabbled with the editor." "How are you getting on?" asked Marbury, quietly inspecting his friend. "Very badly. How are you?" "I'm standing in a month or so for the family seat," answered Marbury. "That's why I'm here. You must come and see the election. Politics from within." "Damn politics." "I'll tell you what it is, Peter. It's the Spring." "I want to get away from all this infernal talking," said Peter. "You've discovered that some of it's a bit thin?" "I'll tell you what I've discovered," said Peter savagely, "I've discovered that almost any damn fool can be intellectual." "Try the stupid fellows who are always right." "Who are they?" "Latest definition of a Tory. Come and talk to the farm-labourers." "Not yet. I'm going to live in the air." "What will you do? Books?" "I hate books." "Come now, Peter, not all books," protested Marbury. "Let me send you some. Books for the open." "Can you find me a book that has nothing to do with any modern thing--a book that goes with the earth and touches bottom." "What's wrong with Shakespeare?" asked Marbury. "I've packed Shakespeare." "I'll send you some more." "Be careful," Peter warned him; "I shall pitch anything that looks like a talking book into the fire." "You mustn't do that, Peter. The books I am going to send you are valuable." They were walking now in Whitehall. "When do you begin to be elected?" asked Peter, suddenly expanding. "Almost at once. I'll send for you when the time comes." "What's the idea of that?" "You must come round the constituency--fifty miles across in its narrowest part. I want someone to feed me with sandwiches and keep my spirits up. Besides it will do you good. You'll meet some people who have never written a book and haven't any opinions." "Beasts of the field," said Peter. "Not at all. They're all on the register; and they will vote for Marbury." By the time they had reached Charing Cross Marbury had persuaded Peter to tell his address. He also agreed to join Marbury immediately he was summoned. The next day he went with his mother to Hamingburgh, and afterwards packed for the country. He would wander aimlessly in Worcestershire from village to village till Marbury sent for him. Already he was happier for the meeting. He felt an access of real affection for Marbury on being interrupted in his packing by the arrival of the books Marbury had promised. He pitched them unopened into his trunk, in confidence that Marbury had chosen well. XXI