“That George?”
George it was.
“Go out and step that there Bus.” In the command of Josiah was all the power of the man of privilege, the almost superhuman authority of a city alderman. Bill Hollis, who had once worn the green apron himself, was thrilled by the recollection that even in his day, when Josiah was first elected to the town council, the public vehicle plying for hire between Jubilee Park and the Market Place was always at the beck and call of Mr. Councilor Munt. Few had a good word for him, but even in those days in that part of the city his word was law.
Josiah rose and his friends rose with him. But as he moved to the door he turned a dour eye upon Bill Hollis. Whole volumes were in it, beyond tongue or pen to utter. To-night even he, in the stress of what was happening to the world in which he had prospered so greatly, was less than himself and also more. An eye of wary truculence pinned the ex-barman to the wainscot while the master of the house uttered his slow, unwilling growl. “Not a bad bloom ye sent in, my lad.”
It was a very big dog to a very little dog, but somehow it told far more than was intended. Almost in spite of himself, the man who on a day had abused the confidence of his master by marrying his eldest daughter was forced to realize that no matter what Josiah Munt might be, he was ... well, he was Jannock!
XVI
TWENTY minutes later William Hollis, feeling inches taller, and more in harmony with himself than for many a day, went forth to grapple with the situation in Europe.
Half Blackhampton, at least, if its streets meant anything, was bent on a similar errand. From every part of the city, its people were slowly filtering in twos and threes to the Great Market Place, that nodal point of the local life and of the life of the empire. Blackhampton claims to be the exact center of England, speaking geographically, and its position on the map is reflected in its mental outlook. It combines a healthy tolerance for the ways and ideas of places less happily situated with a noble faith in itself. Time and again history has justified that faith; time and again it has chosen the famous town as the scene of a memorable manifestation, as its castle, its churches, its ancient buildings, its streets and monuments bear witness. Here an ill-starred king declared war on his people, here a great poet was born, to give but a single deed and a single name among so much that has passed into history. Many of its sons have shed luster on their birthplace. Here is a street bearing the name of one who revolutionized industry; yonder the humble abode of the prizefighter who gave his name to one of the most important towns of Australia; over there the obscure conventicle of the plain citizen who founded a world religion; “up yond” the early home of one whose name is a household word on five continents; across the road the public house where a famous athlete has chosen to live in a modest but honored retirement.