Chippinge Borough. Weyman Stanley John

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      He looked hard in return. "No," he answered bluntly, "I don't."

      "Ah, well, I know you," she replied. "More by token-"

      He cut her short. "Have you any message?" he asked.

      "If I have, I'll give it myself," she retorted drily. "Truth is, I'm in two minds about it. What you have, you have, d'you see, Mr. White; but what you've given ain't yours any more. Anyway-"

      "Anyway," impatiently, "you can't stay here!"

      "Very good," she replied, "very good. As you are so kind, I'll take a day to think of it." And with a cool nod she turned her back on the puzzled White, and went off down the park towards the town.

      He went back to Sir Robert. "She's a stranger, sir," he said; "and, I think, a bit gone in the head. I could make nothing of her."

      Sir Robert drew a deep breath. "You're sure she was a stranger?" he said.

      "She's no one I know, sir. After one of the men, perhaps."

      Sir Robert straightened himself. He had spent a bad ten minutes gazing at the distant figure. "Just so," he said. "Very likely. And now what is it, White?"

      "I've bad news, sir, I'm afraid," the agent said, in an altered tone.

      "What is it?"

      "It's that d-d Pybus, sir! I'm afraid that, after all-"

      "They're going to fight?"

      "I'm afraid, Sir Robert, they are."

      The old gentleman's eyes gleamed. "Afraid, sir, afraid?" he cried. "On the contrary, so much the better. It will cost me some money, but I can spare it; and it will cost them more, and nothing for it. Afraid? I don't understand you."

      The agent, standing on the step below him, coughed dubiously. "Well, sir," he said, "what you say is reasonable. But-"

      "But! But what?"

      "There is so much excitement in the country at this time-"

      "So much greediness in the country," Sir Robert retorted, striking his stick upon the stone steps. "So much unscrupulousness, sir; so many liars promising, and so many fools listening; so much to get, and so many who would like it! There's all that, if you please; but for excitement, I don't know" – with a severe look-"what you mean, or what it has to do with us."

      "I am afraid, sir, there is bad news from Devon, where it is said our candidate is retiring."

      "A good man, but weak; neither one side nor the other."

      "And from Dorset, sir, where they say Mr. Bankes will be beaten."

      "I'll not believe it," Sir Robert answered positively. "I'll never believe it. Mr. Bankes beaten in Dorset! Absurd! Why do you listen to such tales? Why do you listen? By G-d, White, what is the matter with you? Or how does it touch us if Mr. Bankes is beaten? Nine votes to four! Nine will still be nine, and four four, if he be beaten. When you can make four to be more than nine you may come whining to me!"

      White coughed. "Dyas, the butcher-"

      "What of him?"

      "Well, Sir Robert, I am afraid he has been getting some queer notions."

      "Notions?" the baronet echoed in astonishment.

      "He has been listening to someone, and-and thinks he has views on the Bill."

      Sir Robert exploded. "Views!" he cried. "Views! The butcher with views! Why, damme, White, you must be mad! Mad! Since when have butchers taken to politics, or had views?"

      "I don't know anything about that, sir," White mumbled.

      Sir Robert struck his stick fiercely on a step. "But I do! I do! And I know this," he continued, "that for twenty years he's had thirty pounds a year to vote as I tell him. By gad, I never heard such a thing in my life! Never! You don't mean to tell me that the man thinks the vote's his own to do what he likes with?"

      "I am afraid," the agent admitted reluctantly, "that that is what he's saying, sir."

      Sir Robert's thin face turned a dull red. "I never heard of such impudence in all my life," he said, "never! A butcher with views! And going to vote for them! Why, damme," he continued, with angry sarcasm, "we'll have the tailors, the bakers, and the candlestickmakers voting their own way next. Good G-d! What does the man think he's had thirty pounds a year for for all these years, if not to do as he is bid?"

      "He's behaving very ill, sir," White said, severely, "very ill."

      "Ill!" Sir Robert cried; "I should think he was, the scoundrel!" And he foamed over afresh, though we need not follow him. When he had cooled somewhat, "Well," he said, "I can turn him out, and that I'll do, neck and crop! By G-d, I will! I'll ruin him. But there, it's the big rats set the fashion and the little ones follow it. This is Spinning Jenny's work. I wish I had cut off my hand before I voted for him. Well, well, well!" And he stood a moment in bitter contemplation of Sir Robert Peel's depravity. It was nothing that Sir Robert was sound on reform. By adopting the Catholic side on the claims he-he, whose very nickname was Orange Peel-had rent the party. And all these evils were the result!

      The agent coughed.

      Sir Robert, who was no fool, looked sharply at him. "What!" he said grimly. "Not another renegade?"

      "No, sir," White answered timidly. "But Thrush, the pig-killer-he's one of the old lot, the Cripples, that your father put into the corporation-"

      "Ay, and I wish I had kept them cripples." Sir Robert growled. "All cripples! My father was right, and I was a fool to think better men would do as well, and do us credit. In his time there were but two of the thirteen could read and write; but they did as they were bid. They did as they were bid. And now-well, man, what of Thrush?"

      "He was gaoled yesterday by Mr. Forward, of Steynsham, for assault."

      "For how long?"

      "For a fortnight, sir."

      Sir Robert nearly had a fit. He reared himself to his full height, and glared at White. "The infernal rascal!" he cried. "He did it on purpose!"

      "I've no doubt, sir, that it determined them to fight," the agent answered. "With Dyas they are five. And five to seven is not such-such odds that they may not have some hope of winning."

      "Five to seven!" Sir Robert repeated; and at an end of words, at an end of oaths, could only stare aghast. "Five to seven!" he muttered. "You're not going to tell me-there's something more."

      "No, sir, no; that's the worst," White answered, relieved that his tale was told. "That's the worst, and may be bettered. I've thought it well to postpone the nomination until Wednesday the 4th, to give Sergeant Wathen a better chance of dealing with Dyas."

      "Well, well!" Sir Robert muttered. "It has come to that. It has come to dealing with such men as butchers, to treating them as if they had minds to alter and views to change. Well, well!"

      And that was all Sir Robert could say. And so it was settled; the Vermuyden dinner for the 2nd, the nomination and polling for the 4th. "You'll let Mr. Vaughan know," Sir Robert concluded. "It's well we can count on somebody."

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