This was more than a month ago,
and there had come not a single word from him. All that vague distrust
which Brooks had sometimes felt in the man was rekindled and increased,
and with it came a flood of bitter thoughts. Another opportunity then
was to be lost. For seven years longer these thousands of pallid,
heart-weary men and women were to suffer, with no one to champion their
cause. He saw again that sea of eager faces in the market-place, lit
with a sudden gleam of hope as they listened to the bold words of the
man who was promising them life and hope and better things. Surely if
this was a betrayal it was an evil deed, not passively to be borne.
Mr. Bullsom had refreshed himself with whisky-and-water, and decided
that pessimism was not a healthy state of mind.
"I tell you what it is, Brooks," he said, more cheerfully. "We mustn't
be too previous in judging the fellow. Let's write him civilly, and if
nothing comes of it in a week or two, we will run up to London, you and
me, eh? and just haul him over the coals."
"You are right, Mr. Bullsom," Brooks said.
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