The others did not speak, and the Mayor in particular looked upset. Perhaps for the first time he appreciated the responsibility which lay on his shoulders. Meanwhile Vaughan saw all; and Cooke also, and the latter laughed maliciously. “Perhaps you will listen now,” he said with an ill-natured chuckle. “You would not listen to me!”
“Dear, dear,” the Mayor quavered. “Is it really as serious as that, Mr. Hare?” He turned to the Town-clerk. “What do you advise?” he asked.
“I think with Mr. Hare that you had better read the Riot Act, sir.”
“Very well, I’ll come down! I’ll come down at once,” the Mayor assented with spirit. “Only,” he continued, looking round him, “I beg that some gentleman known to be on the side of Reform, will come with me. Who has the Riot Act?”
“Mr. Burges. Where is he?”
“I am here, sir,” replied the gentleman named. “I am quite ready, Mr. Mayor. If you will say a few words to the crowd; I am sure they will listen. Let us go down!”
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later the same group, but with disordered clothes and sickly faces—and as to Mr. Burges, with a broken head—were gathered again on the landing. In those twenty minutes, despite the magic of the Riot Act, the violence of the mob had grown rather than diminished. They were beginning to talk of burning the Mansion House, they were calling for straw, they were demanding lights. Darkness had fallen, too, and there could be no question now that the position was serious. The Mayor, who, below stairs, had shown no lack of courage, turned to the Town-clerk. “Ought I to call out the military?” he asked.
“I think that we should take Sir Charles Wetherell’s opinion,” the tall, thin man answered, deftly shifting the burden from his own shoulders.
“The sooner Sir Charles is gone the better, I should say!” Cooke said bluntly. “If we don’t want to have his blood on our heads.”