All day long the committee-rooms of the rival Conservative and Liberal Associations were filled with men, consulting, smoking, enrolling pledges, and inditing ‘squibs’ and manifestoes; and as a Liberal meeting in support of Mr. Sharpe was to be held that evening in the Greek class-room, Alec determined to be present, hoping to hear some arguments which might help him to decide how he ought to vote on this momentous occasion. In this expectation, however, he was disappointed. Before he came in sight of the lighted-up windows of the class-room he heard a roar of singing--the factions were uniting their powers to render a stanza of ‘The Good Rhine Wine’ with proper emphasis. The place was packed as full as it would hold, the Professor’s platform being held by the committee-men of the Liberal Association. As soon as the song was ended, a small man in spectacles was voted into the chair. He opened the proceedings by calling upon a Mr. Macfarlane to move the first resolution, and (like a wise man) immediately sat down. Mr. Macfarlane, a young man of great size with a throat of brass, was not popular. Cries of ‘Sit down, sir!’ ‘Go home, sir!’ ‘Speak up, sir!’ were mingled with volleys of peas, Kentish fire, cheers for Lord Dummieden, and the usual noises of a noisy meeting. The little man in spectacles got up, and, speaking in a purposely low voice, obtained a hearing. He reminded his Conservative friends that the Liberals had not spoiled the Conservative meeting on the previous evening, and said it was only fair that they should have their turn. This was greeted with loud shouts of ‘Hear! hear!’ and Mr. Macfarlane began a second time. But soon he managed to set his audience in an uproar once more. His face was fairly battered with peas. Men got up and stood on the benches, then on the book-boards. One fellow had brought a policeman’s rattle, with which he created a din so intolerable that three or four others tried to deprive him of it. One or two stout Conservatives came to the rescue, and finally the whole group slid off their narrow foot-hold on the book-boards, and fell in a confused heap on the floor, amid loud cheers from both parties. After this episode order was restored, and a fresh orator held the attention of the audience for a few minutes. Unfortunately he stopped for a moment, and the pause was immediately filled by a student at the farther end of the room blowing a shrill, pitiful blast on a child’s penny trumpet. The effect was comical enough; and everybody laughed. At that moment a loud knock was heard at the door, which had been locked, the room being already as full as it could possibly hold. The knock was repeated. ‘I believe the perambulator has come for the gentleman with the penny trumpet,’ said the chairman in gentle accents. This sally was greeted with a loud roar of laughter; and when it died away, comparative silence reigned for five minutes.