A few weeks later the Mayor stood at his door, one bright morning in January, holding a parley with Alderman Johnstone.
"I dessay, now," said the Mayor, "that you aint been in the way of seein' the Squire lately?"
"I see him last when he signed my lease," answered the Alderman, with a grim smile, "and that's a month come to-morrow."
"I had a conversation with him yesterday, and after touchin' on the matter of that last pavin' contract,—he'd heard o' your son-in-law gettin' it, Johnstone,—he got talkin' about Mr. Bannister."
"Aye? did he?"
"And about his noo book. 'It's a blessin',' he says, 'to see a young man of such promise shakin' himself free of that pestilential trash.' He meant your opinions by that, Johnstone."
"Supposing 'e did, what then? I don't label my opinions to please the customers like as some do their physic."
The Mayor was not in a fighting mood; his mind was busy with speculations, and he ignored the challenge.
"Queer start Mr. Bannister showin' up at the church bazaar, eh? Spent a heap o' money, too. I met Mr. Hume, and asked him about it, and he said——"
"It wan't no business o' yours, didn't he?"