"I'm against liquor, as you know, and cannot support the idea, owing to conscience."
"No good voting—I don't care what you vote, and I don't care for a teetotaler's conscience. Take it or leave it. Free lunches for fifty, and them as drinks pays for it," repeated Mr. Pearn.
"I advise the committee to accept that," said the miller Taverner. "'Tis a public-spirited offer, and if Noah does well out of the beer, why shouldn't he? In fact, I second it."
"Are we agreed?" asked Mr. Churchward, and all held up a hand but Mr. Norseman. The publican resented his attitude as a personal slight.
"Don't you come to fill your belly with my free lunch, then—that's all, for you won't be served," he said, furiously.
"Have no fear," answered the other. "I never support drink, and never shall, Mr. Pearn."
"Order—order!" cried the chairman. "The free lunch is carried. Now, neighbours, please hear me. The first thing to decide is, shall we or shall we not have a procession? If any man can think of a better idea, let him speak."
"Impossible," declared the postmaster. "You have hit on exactly the right thing, Mr. Chairman. A procession is the highest invention the human mind can ever reach on great occasions, and the most famous events of the world, from ancient times downwards, are always marked so. The bigger the affair, the longer the procession. History is simply packed full of them."
"Hear, hear, Spry!" said Mr. Taverner. "And what the postmaster says is true. 'Tis always a solemn sight to see men walking two by two, whether they be worthies of the nation or mere convicts chained together."
The committee, without a dissentient voice, agreed to a procession, and Mr. Churchward was much gratified. He bowed from the chair.