"Who raised Widow Pouncey's rent?" came a clear voice from the back of the hall.
The mayor paused, and cast a swift glance in the direction of the questioner. He had recognised the voice, and sought for that well-remembered figure in officer's khaki. The somnolent audience was roused, every head was turned, many people had risen from their seats. Mrs. Pouncey, who had been dozing, her head constantly wobbling over towards Templeton's shoulder, suddenly sat erect, and exclaimed with a cry of delight: "That's Mr. Eves at last, bless him!" Eves himself, having launched his question, and ascertained that the mercury stood at 75°, turned with a smile towards the eager Tommies who wanted to know all about Widow Pouncey.
Noakes recovered from the shock before the first thrill of excitement had passed off.
"'Tis low manners to interrupt," he said in his smoothest tones, still trying to discover Eves's whereabouts, but in vain. "I was a-going to say——"
"Answer the question!" came in a chorused roar from the soldiers. "Who raised Widow Pouncey's rent?"
"Shall I tell 'em, sir?" whispered Mrs. Pouncey.
"No, no!" advised Templeton, anxious to avoid publicity. "Better say nothing."
"Ay, I be that shy, and the room so terrible hot."
"As chairman of this meeting," said Noakes, with a patient smile, "I rule that questions can't be asked now."
"Who—raised—Widow—Pouncey's—rent?" sang the Tommies, to the tune of "Here we suffer grief and pain" da capo.