"Well, Squire," said Scruby, "how is it to be?" And Vavasor felt that he detected in the man's voice some diminution of that respect with which he had hitherto been treated as a paying candidate for a metropolitan borough.
"This lord is not dead yet," said Vavasor.
"No; he's not dead yet, that we have heard; but it won't do for us to wait. We want every minute of time that we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told. It's gout in the stomach, or dropsy at the heart, or some of those things that make a fellow safe to go."
"It won't do to wait for the next election?"

"Well, Squire," said Scruby, "how is it to be?" And Vavasor felt that he detected in the man's voice some lessening of respect.
"This lord is not dead yet," said Vavasor.
"No; but we can't wait. We need every minute we can get. There isn't any hope for him, I'm told."
