"So she did, sir. Now, my daughter is on the Liberal side; she and Miss Smith used to go a-drivin' round together." "A sad division of opinion, Mr. Mayor." "Well, we can differ without disagreein', sir. Besides," he added, with something like a wink, "customers differ too." "Most true." "Business is business, sir, especially with a growin' fam'ly. I always think of my fam'ly, Mr. Hume, and how I should leave 'em if I was took--taken." "A man's first duty, Mr. Mayor." "You wouldn't catch me goin' on like this young Roberts." "Why, what's he been up to now?" asked Philip uneasily. "You aint seen the _Standard_, sir?" The Mayor, of course, meant the _East Denshire Standard_, not the London paper of the same name. "No." "Well, last week they printed the Vicar's sermon on 'The Work of Christianity in the World.' A fine sermon it was, sir. I heard it, being a Church of England man. Mrs. Hedger goes to Chapel." "'Customers differ too,'" thought Philip, smiling. "Well, as I was sayin', Jones of the _Standard_ got the Vicar to give it 'im, and it came out, with a leadin' article of Jones' crackin' it up." "But how does the Doctor----" "This week, sir," continued the Mayor, shaking an impressive forefinger, "in the _Chronicle_--that's the Liberal paper, sir--there's a letter from the Doctor--two columns--just abusin' the Church and the parsons, and the 'ole--whole thing, fit to--well, I never did!" "Hum! Rather rash, isn't it?" "Rash, Mr. Hume, sir? It's madness, that's what it is, sir. He talks about 'pestilent priests,' and I don't know what all, sir, and ends with quotin' thirty or forty lines from a poem called, I think, 'The Arch Apostates'--would that be it, sir?--by Mr. Bannister." "No! does he, by Jove?" said Philip, slapping his thigh. "And the po'try, sir, is worse than the Doctor's own stuff, sir, beggin' your pardon as a friend of Mr. Bannister." "I know the lines. They're some of the hottest he's ever done." "Mr. Bannister, of course, can afford it, sir,--his opinions are what he pleases,--but the Doctor, sir!" "So the fat's in the fire?" "Just the very worst time it could ha' come out, sir. The Guardians over at Dirkham meet to-morrow to elect their medical officer. I'm afraid as they won't re-elect Dr. Roberts, sir, and there was more than one down at the Delane Arms sayin' they'd had the last to do with him." Philip parted from his informant in much concern for Roberts, and in no small amusement at the public placarding of "The Arch Apostates." "_Surtout, point de zele_," he could imagine Dale saying to his infatuated disciple.