] But I thought she was twenty-seven.
[DAVID turns out the light.]
ACT II
[Six years have elapsed and John Shand's great hour has come. Perhaps
his great hour really lies ahead of him, perhaps he had it six years
ago; it often passes us by in the night with such a faint call that
we don't even turn in our beds. But according to the trumpets this is
John's great hour; it is the hour for which he has long been working
with his coat off; and now the coat is on again (broadcloth but ill-
fitting), for there is no more to do but await results. He is
standing for Parliament, and this is election night.
As the scene discloses itself you get, so to speak, one of John
Shand's posters in the face. Vote for Shand. Shand, Shand, Shand.
Civil and Religious Liberty, Faith, Hope, Freedom. They are all fly-
blown names for Shand. Have a placard about Shand, have a hundred
placards about him, it is snowing Shand to-night in Glasgow; take the
paste out of your eye, and you will see that we are in one of Shand's
committee rooms. It has been a hairdresser's emporium, but Shand,
Shand, Shand has swept through it like a wind, leaving nothing but
the fixtures; why shave, why have your head doused in those basins
when you can be brushed and scraped and washed up for ever by simply
voting for Shand?
There are a few hard chairs for yelling Shand from, and then rushing
away.
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