It was with a feeling of relaxation and
relief that every one heard the clocks strike the hour for the close of
the poll. Exclamations broke out from the tired workers, and corks flew
out from bottles.
"Well, if we haven't won; we've done our level best." "It has been a
clean straight fight, with no rancour." "The children were quite a
charming feature, weren't they?"
The children? It suddenly occurred to everybody that they had seen
nothing of the children for the last hour. What had become of the three
little Jutterlys and their donkey-cart, and, for the matter of that, what
had become of Hyacinth. Hurried, anxious embassies went backwards and
forwards between the respective party headquarters and the various
committee-rooms, but there was blank ignorance everywhere as to the
whereabouts of the children. Every one had been too busy in the closing
moments of the poll to bestow a thought on them. Then there came a
telephone call at the Unionist Women's Committee-rooms, and the voice of
Hyacinth was heard demanding when the poll would be declared.
"Where are you, and where are the Jutterly children?" asked his mother.
"I've just finished having high-tea at a pastry-cook's," came the answer,
"and they let me telephone.
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