He employs a matter of two hundred men up at the
mills yonder."
"The position's very critical, isn't it, then?"
"So your good husband seems to think," said Foster, jerking his thumb
towards where Quisante leant over Japhet's shoulder, almost caressing
him, and ingeniously justifying the statistics of an electioneering
placard. May's eyes followed the direction of the jerk. She sighed.
"Yes, it's a waste of Mr. Quisante's time, but we can't help that,"
Foster sighed responsively. It was not, however, of Quisante's time that
his wife had been thinking.
Japhet rose. Quisante took his hand, shook it, and held it.
"Now you're satisfied, really satisfied, Mr. Williams?" he asked. "I give
you my word that what I've said is absolutely accurate."
"What that placard says, sir?"
"Yes, yes, certainly--what the placard says. It doesn't give the details
and explanations, of course, but the results are accurately stated."
"I'm much relieved to hear it, much relieved," said Japhet.
He left them; Foster sat down again, smiling. May had come to drive her
husband to a meeting and waited his leisure.
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