To You, Mr Chips by James Hilton Page A

over it; yet he could never (and it must have been pure chance) see him entering or leaving the house, or passing from one room to another. Partly, of course, this was because of Aunt Flo's continual fidgeting. 'Mind now, Gerald, be very quiet, and no playing in the passage--the Candidate'll be in any minute.' Or: 'Gerald, time for bed now--must have you out of the way before the Candidate comes in!' Long after she had put him to bed and turned out the light, Gerald would he awake, thinking and listening; often he  heard  the Candidate, but it was never any words--just the mix-up of footsteps and talk. Once he said to Uncle Richard: 'Can't I ever  see  the Candidate?'--and Uncle Richard answered: 'Not now, my boy--he's far too busy. But I'll take you out tonight and you'll see him then.'
    So that night Uncle Richard took Gerald to the market-place, which was full of a great crowd of people. Uncle Richard hoisted him on to his shoulder so that he could see; and far away, over all the cloth caps, a man was standing on a cart and shouting something. Gerald could not hear what it was he was shouting, because people round about were shouting much louder. 'Aha, we're in good time,' said Uncle Richard, in Gerald's ear. 'That's only old Burstall--don't you take any notice of  him.  He'll only go on till the Candidate comes, that's all. Watch out--you'll soon see the Candidate!'
    The talking and shouting went on, and Gerald, perched on Uncle Richard's shoulder, began to feel very sleepy. Everyone seemed to be smoking pipes and cigarettes, and the smoke rose in a cloud and got into his eyes, so that it became hard to keep them open. The man on the cart continued to talk, but he wasn't interesting either to watch or listen to . . . and still the Candidate didn't come. . . . Then suddenly, with a jerk, Gerald felt himself being lowered to the ground and Uncle Richard was stooping and shaking him. All around were the legs of people hurrying past. 'Why,' exclaimed Uncle Richard, 'I do believe you've been asleep! Didn't you see the Candidate?'
    Then Gerald realised what had happened. Uncle Richard laughed heartily. 'Well, I don't know--you are a rum fellow, and no mistake! Badgering me all the time to see him, and then when he does come you drop off to sleep!'
    'I couldn't help it,' answered Gerald miserably. 'I didn't know. . . . Why didn't you nudge me?'
    'Nudge you? God bless my soul, I thought you were wide awake!' Uncle Richard went on laughing as if it were a great joke instead of something very sad. 'Well, my boy, you missed something good, I can tell you. The Candidate's a treat--a fair treat!'
     
    Days went by, and the chance did not come again. All the commotion of shouting and singing and waving red rosettes was reaching some kind of climax that Gerald, even without understanding it, could clearly sense; every morning the magic was renewed, and Uncle Richard tapped the barometer with more zest for the day ahead.
    In Gerald the desire to see the Candidate had grown into a great longing. It coloured all Browdley in a glow of excitement, for, as Uncle Richard had said: 'You'll see him, my boy, if you keep your eyes open! Ha, ha--if you keep your eyes open, eh? That hits the mark, eh? Wuff-wuff. . . . He's everywhere in Browdley--you're bound to see him. But mind, now, no hanging about the passage--that would only annoy him. He's putting up a hard fight--we've all got to help.'
    That was so, of course, and it was for that reason he and Olive kept on putting bills in letter-boxes. It was like the Secret Service, where you did things you didn't properly understand because the King ordered you to; though you never really saw the King till afterwards, when the danger was all past and he received you at the Palace and conferred on you the Most Noble and Distinguished Order of the Red Rosette.
    So Gerald wandered about, eager and happy and preoccupied, full of thoughts of his mission and stirred by wild hopes that some time, any