"Mr. Noakes?"
"Ay, sure, that be the mayor's name, and well I know it. But do 'ee take your soup, now, 'twill be cold, and cold soup lays heavy, not to speak o' the nastiness, and the pork chops grilled to a cinder."
The good woman had toddled away while speaking, and her last words came faintly through the open door.
"Jolly good soup, Bob," said Eves. "And pork chops! Splendid! The old dame is a treasure. I'll get her to tell us about our worthy mayor."
Mrs. Pouncey returned with two well-grilled pork chops and a dish of sprouts and baked potatoes.
"Absolutely topping, Mrs. Pouncey!" said Eves. "What on earth did your last lodger find to grumble at, if you treated him like this?"
"Lor' bless 'ee, sir, he'd grumble at everything, pertickler at the bill. He'd want a penny took off here, and a penny there: and he would measure out his tea hisself, and cut his own rashers. I never did see the like."
"And a friend of the mayor, too!"
"Ay, and more'n a friend, so it do seem. 'Tis said here and there 'twas a gentleman—gentleman, says I, but that's the talk!—a gentleman from London as have Mr. Noakes in his pocket, so to speak it."
"Really!"