"One day you'll have to try it, whether you want to or not."
"When will that be?"
"Don't know. Might be next year but one. Old Barlow's pretty certain to
be chosen for next November. It's looked on as his turn next. I know
there's been a good bit of talk about me for the year after Barlow. Of
course, Bloor's death will advance everything by a year. But even if I
come next after Barlow it'll be too late."
"Too late? Too late for what?"
"I'll tell you," said Denry. "I wanted to be the youngest mayor that
Bursley's ever had. It was only a kind of notion I had a long time ago.
I'd given it up, because I knew there was no chance unless I came before
Bloor, which of course I couldn't do. Now he's dead. If I could upset
old Barlow's apple-cart I should just be the youngest mayor by the skin
of my teeth. Huskinson, the mayor in 1884, was aged thirty-four and six
months. I've looked it all up this afternoon."
"How lovely if you _could_ be the youngest mayor!"
"Yes. I'll tell you how I feel. I feel as though I didn't want to be
mayor at all if I can't be the youngest mayor... you know."
She knew.
"Oh!" she cried, "do upset Mr Barlow's apple-cart.
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