“I hear most things,” the lawyer answered. “But repealers talking treason at the Audley Arms is a thing I never thought to hear. They must go.”
The landlord rubbed his head. “I can’t turn ’em out,” he said. “They’d have the law of me. His lordship couldn’t turn ’em out.”
“I don’t know about that,” Stubbs replied. “He’s a good landlord, but he likes his own way.”
“But what can I do?” the stout man protested. “When they came I knew no more about them than a china babe. When they began to talk, so glib that no one could answer them, I was more took aback than anybody. Seems like the world’s coming to an end with Manchester men coming here.”
“Perhaps it is,” Basset said.
Stubbs met his eye and took his meaning. Later the lawyer maintained that he had his suspicions from that moment. At the time he only answered, “Not in our day, Mr. Basset. Peel or Repeal, there’s no one has attacked the land yet but the land has broken them. And so it will be this time. John, the sooner those two are out of your house the better.”
“But, dang me, sir, what am I to do?”
“Put ’em in the horse trough for what I care!” the lawyer replied. “Good-evening, Squire. I hope the Riddsley parliament mayn’t disturb you.”
The landlord followed him out, after handing something through the hatch, which opened into the Snug. He left the hatch a little ajar when he had done so, and the voices of those who gathered there nightly, as to a club, reached Basset. At first he caught no more than a word here or there, but as the debate grew warm the speakers raised their voices.
“All mighty fine,” some one said, laying down the law, “but you’re like the rest, you Manchester chaps. You’ve your eyes on your own rack and manger!”