THE meeting of the Ways and Means Committee which had been called for a quarter past ten was of more than local importance. It was of national importance as the Mayor was careful to inform its members, among whom were the picked brains of the community, when he informally opened the business. But it was not until twenty minutes to eleven that he was able to do so. It was not that the Committee itself was unpunctual; it was simply that one and all had seen that morning’s Tribune and that the common task had perforce to yield for the nonce to their hearty congratulations.
For one thing, the Mayor had become decidedly popular; for another, one more glorious page had been written in history by the Blackhampton born. It was really surprising the number of absolutely eminent people who at one time or another had contrived to be born at Blackhampton. In no city in England did local patriotism run higher, in no city in England was there better warrant for it. The Ways and Means Committee was quite excited. It was almost childishly delighted at having, as their Chairman, the rather embarrassed parent of one who, as Sir Reuben Jope, senior alderman and thrice ex-mayor, said in a well turned phrase, “bade fair to become the most famous woman in the Empire.”
Perhaps a certain piquancy was lent to an event that was already historical, by the knowledge in possession of those in the inner circle of municipal life that the Mayor had been hard hit by a former episode in the dashing career of Miss Sally. That episode belonged to the pre-war period when the stock of Mr. Josiah Munt did not stand nearly so high in the market as it did that morning. More than one of these seated round the council board with their eyes on the Chairman had relished the public chastening of the lord of Strathfieldsaye. He had been smitten in a tender place and they were not so sorry for him as they might have been. But other times other modes of thought. Since July, 1914, water had flowed under Sharrow Bridge. Nothing could have been more eloquent of the fact than the rather excited cordiality of the present gathering.
“I really think, gentlemen,” said Sir Reuben Jope, “that the City should recognize Miss Munt’s extremely gallant behavior. I presume, Mr. Town Clerk, it is competent to do so.”
“Oh, quite, sir—oh, quite.” In the expressive words in which the Mayor reconstructed the scene that evening for the benefit of the Mayoress, “that Aylett was grinning all over his lantern-jawed mug like a Barbary ape.”
“Then I shall propose at the next meeting of the Council that a public presentation be made to Miss Munt.”
“I shall be glad to second that, Sir Reuben,” said Mr. Alderman Limpenny, “when the time comes to do so.”
But the Mayor interposed with asperity: “No, no, no, gentlemen. We can’t have anything of the kind. Very good of you, I’m sure, but we must get on with the business.” His worship rapped smartly upon the municipal mahogany. “This is war time, remember. We’ve got to discuss that contract of Perkins and Baylis. Seems to me, as I said at the last meeting, that those jockeys are over-charging the city forty per cent. You know, gentlemen, we’ve got to stop this leakage of public money. Whatever they may do in Whitehall, we are not going to stand for it here. Signing blank checks and dropping them in Corporation Square is not our form. As long as I sit in this chair there is going to be strict control of the public purse. And there is not going to be graft in this city neither. This is not Westminster. We don’t propose to allow a public department to make a little mistake in its accounts of a few odd millions sterling and then jog quietly on as if nothing had occurred.”
“Hear! hear!” from the City Treasurer.
“This war is costing the British people more than seven millions a day at the present time and to my mind it’s wonderful that they are able to do it at the price. However, gentlemen, that is by the way. Let us return to the contract of Perkins and Baylis.”