Mr. Ducker's social qualities developed amazingly. He
courted his neighbours assiduously, sending presents from
his garden, stopping to have protracted conversations
with men whom he had known but slightly before. Every
man whose name was on the voters' list began to have a
new significance for him.
There was one man whom he feared--that was Evans, editor
of the Conservative paper. Sometimes when his fancy
painted for him a gay and alluring picture of carrying
"the proud old Conservative banner that has suffered
defeat, but, thank God! never disgrace in the face of
the foe" (quotation from speech Mr. Ducker had prepared),
sometimes he would in the midst of the most glowing and
glorious passages inadvertently think of Evans, and it
gave him goose-flesh. Mr. Ducker had lived in and around
Millford for some time. So had Evans, and Evans had a
most treacherous memory. You could not depend on him to
forget anything!
When Evans was friendly with him, Mr. Ducker's hopes ran
high, but when he caught Evans looking at him with that
boyish smile of his twinkling in his eyes, the vision of
chaperoning an Elk party to St. Paul became very shadowy
indeed.
Mr. Ducker tried diplomacy. He withdrew his insurance
advertisement from McSorley's paper, and doubled his
space in Evans's, paying in advance. He watched the trains
for visitors and reported them to Evans. He wrote breezy
little local briefs in his own light cow-like way for
Evans's paper.
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