Gregg swallowed his wrath, and was perhaps thankful for the interruption. He said he would; and the lawyer turned to Mr. Clode. “Well,” he said, “so you have made up your minds to fight?”
“I am not quite sure,” said the curate, with caution—for he knew better than to treat Mr. Bonamy as he treated Gregg—“that I take you.”
“You have not seen your principal this morning?” replied the lawyer, with a smile which for him was almost benevolent. The prospect of a fight was as the Mountains of Beulah to him.
“Do you mean Mr. Lindo?” said the curate, with some curtness.
The lawyer nodded. “I see you have not,” he continued. “Perhaps you do not know that he turned the sheep out of the churchyard after breakfast this morning, and half of them were found nearly a mile down the Red Lane!”
“I did not know it,” said the curate gravely. But it was as much as he could do to restrain his exultation and show no sign save of concern.
“Well, it is the fact,” the lawyer replied, rubbing his hands. “It is quite true he gave the church wardens notice to remove them a fortnight ago; but we did not comply, because we say it is our affair and not his. Now you may tell him from me that the only question in my mind is the form of action.”
“I will tell him,’ said the curate with dignity.
“Just so! What do you say, Gregg?”
But the doctor, grinning from ear to ear with satisfaction, was gone; and the curate, not a whit less pleased in his heart, hastened to follow his example. “Bonamy one, and Gregg two,” he said softly to himself, “and last, but not least, one who shall be nameless, three! He has made three enemies already, and, if those be not enough, with right on their side, to oust him from his seat when the time comes, why, I know nothing of odds!”