Only, in Barry's case, he was quite sure that
his barkings were unheard, and he would have been exceedingly alarmed
had he thought otherwise.
"I declare to God I don't care what way it goes!" Larry had said many
times, but most often when fatigue and discouragement had together
taken control.
Such times had come more often during the last week Before the
election, and they reached their climax on the evening of the polling
day. The two young men, mentally and physically demoralised by
fatigue, had at length, at an hour considerably past midnight, escaped
from their colleagues, and, having gained the sanctuary of Barty's
office, were drearily reviewing the position by the light of a smoky
lamp and over the ashes of a dead fire; counting possible votes,
making unconvincing calculations based on supposition, wading
hand-in-hand ever deeper into the Slough of Despond.
"I was talking to your father this evening," said Larry, lighting a
cigarette and letting himself fall into an ancient rocking-chair. "He
wouldn't give me an opinion one way or the other, but it's my belief
he thinks it's a bad chance."
"I believe he's done his best for you," said Barty, dubiously; "but
the way he's situated, he doesn't like to come out too strong one way
or the other."
"Quite right too; I'm a rotten proposition," said Larry, "and this
dam' cigarette won't draw!"
"I could stand getting licked," went on Barty, too preoccupied to
consider the plaints of his principal, "if I thought the Clergy had
played fair.
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