Toby entered with a boisterous flourish. He liked Ursula tremendously. She was a good sort. Had more go in her than the rest of the family. She knew a thing or two. Not a conceited frump like Mary.
"They said that I might come in for a minute if I was very good. Well, Ursula, how are you? And how's the nipper? By Jove, the very image of his father. By the way, I saw Foster in the town. Never met a man so set up in my life! Well, Mary, I've been talking to your man in the market—you come baby worshipping? By Jove, Ursula, wait till you've got four! Then you'll say something!"
He winked at her delightedly, caught Thomas from his wife's reluctant arms, and held him at arm's length for inspection.
"Oh, by the way," he exclaimed suddenly, almost dropping Thomas back on to Ursula's sofa, "I've got something for you, Mary. Have you seen this week's Northern Clarion? By Jove, your little friend's been at it all right. There's a stinger there, a regular stinger. He's got you farmers pretty well on toast. He's going to make things hum a bit."
"What little friend?" asked Mary indifferently.
Her heart was in her mouth. She hardly dare open her lips lest Toby should see it.
"That socialist chap who set Sarah by the ears. We've all heard about that little business, Mary. You can't hide your light under a bushel in the East Riding. I met a chap at the Archæological Society who told me to read this. He'd met your young fellow—what's his name? Rossitur? up beyond Foxhaven way, ranting round like a Salvation Army soul-snatcher. Great little fellow, what? You read this."
He handed Mary the crumpled leaves of a newspaper.
The black letters danced madly on the printed page. Mary folded it, laughing rather breathlessly.
"Oh, it's too long to read now. I came to look at the baby, not to read the newspaper."