It was all very well for the caucus: they left it to Wattercouch, the general handy man, to make suggestions, and as he listened to Sam he thought he had found a candidate who, simply because he was politically unknown, could offend nobody. If the obvious men were wrong, he must rely on the rightness of the unexpected, and, after all, Sam might be speaking the truth. One never knew where one was with Whips, and here was his chance to propitiate Sam and at the same time to solve the problem which troubled the caucus. Sam was a dark horse and he wished he knew more about him; it was startling to come in search of a voluntary clerk and to find a candidate; but, finally, he saw it as a legitimate case for taking a risk. “I don’t know, sir,” he said, with a very pretty respect in his voice, “whether municipal politics will appeal to a man of your calibre, but there is a vacancy in St. Mary’s Ward, and I hardly think there will be any difficulty about your adoption as candidate if you cared to stand.” Sam pretended to reflect. The truth was that the prospect of an immediate seat in the Council made his heart beat fiercely. He had meant for a while longer to put business before politics, but this sort of politics was business. The Council took up one’s time, but conferred a prestige on Branstone and the Branstone Publications which would more than compensate for the waste of time. And it was deliciously unexpected. He had not studied to impress Wattercouch, but had talked exaltedly simply to excuse himself from the unseen, thankless drudgery of organization: yet it seemed he had impressed. Virtually, he was offered a seat, He was, this soon, to sit where Travers had sat, to be a City Father before he was thirty-five. He had romanced glibly about a bird in the bush, and found himself grasping a bird in hand, and no contemptible fowl either. “We must despise nothing,” he said, “which makes for Liberalism.” Wattercouch nodded with enthusiasm. “Of course,” Sam went on, “strictly between ourselves, the Council is small beer. But it is for the Cause, and if I were asked to stand, you may take it that I should not allow the larger view I have of my ultimate activities to interfere with my acceptance. I take pleasure in duty and I see it as my duty, even if it involves the postponement of my Parliamentary ambitions, to throw myself wholeheartedly into this conflict.” He was wonderfully pious. Wattercouch was less emotional. He had heard too many speeches from prospective candidates to be carried away by Sam’s. “Quite probably there will be no contest,” he said dryly. “It’s a safe Liberal seat.” “I should have preferred a fight,” Sam lied wistfully. “But I put duty first.”