The company seated themselves. Maids brought from the house trays filled with good things. Mrs. Crawshay poured out tea, and Lilian and the boys carried round the eatables. Under the influence of good cheer the villagers' stiffness wore off, and they began to descant upon the moving events of the past days. For the first time in its history the village had become a place of importance. Visitors had flocked to it from all parts; journalists with cameras had interviewed the actors in the drama, and expressed themselves very freely on Mr. Pratt's refusal to admit them to his grounds, and to pose for his photograph. His modesty in this respect was a standing puzzle to his humble neighbours. Mrs. Rogers, for instance, was extremely proud of the portrait of her husband that had appeared in the previous day's picture paper.
"The scar shows beautiful," she said, complacently.
"Dear me," said Mrs. Crawshay, with a discreet glance at Rogers's broad face, "I wasn't aware----"
"Take off your hat, Joe, and show the lady."
Removing his hat, Rogers displayed a red furrow that ran across his shiny pate.
"What a narrow escape!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawshay.
"Ay sure, ma'am, 'twas so," said Mrs. Rogers. "And I'm certain a widow's cap wouldn't have suited me."
"Well, Mrs. Rogers, you won't be so particular about Joe's wig after this," said Percy Pratt. "You see, if he'd worn his wig, his scalp wouldn't have been touched; think what millions of people have had the pleasure of admiring your husband, talking about his bravery, discussing the track of the bullet across his skull. No one wanted to take my photograph."
"They took 'ee unbeknownst, then, becos there you be, next to Joe, with 'Pepper and Salt' printed underneath; very clever, I call it, Joe being once a sailor."
"Oh, I say," exclaimed Pratt, "did they get the others too?"