"No! does he, by Jove?" said Philip, slapping his thigh.
"And the po'try, sir, is worse than the Doctor's own stuff, sir, beggin' your pardon as a friend of Mr. Bannister."
"I know the lines. They're some of the hottest he's ever done."
"Mr. Bannister, of course, can afford it, sir,—his opinions are what he pleases,—but the Doctor, sir!"
"So the fat's in the fire?"
"Just the very worst time it could ha' come out, sir. The Guardians over at Dirkham meet to-morrow to elect their medical officer. I'm afraid as they won't re-elect Dr. Roberts, sir, and there was more than one down at the Delane Arms sayin' they'd had the last to do with him."
Philip parted from his informant in much concern for Roberts, and in no small amusement at the public placarding of "The Arch Apostates." "Surtout, point de zele," he could imagine Dale saying to his infatuated disciple.
On returning home, however, he found the poet saying much harder things of, if not to, Mr. Roberts. Dale had been calling at the Smiths'. The Colonel, while shaking his head over Roberts' impudence, had applauded his opinions, and was, above all, enchanted with the extract from Dale's poem, which he had never hitherto read. His pleasure was, as he told Dale, greatly increased by finding that the letter and the quotation had fallen like a bombshell on the Grange household.
"The Squire was furious. Mrs. Delane said she had no idea you had done anything so bad as that; and little Janet sat and looked as if someone had knocked down the Archbishop of Canterbury. It was splendid! Gad, sir, you've waked 'em up."
These congratulations had the effect of reducing the poet almost to a frenzy. "What business," he demanded, "has the fellow to quote me in support of his balderdash without my leave?"