must wait, and that other dream of his, having an assistant, that must wait, too. If he had an assistant, he would have some leisure for research, for reading, for studying the political and social questions where his real and engrossing interest lay. He could then take his part in the mighty work of rousing---- Here his meditations were interrupted. He had reached, in his progress down the street, a large plate-glass-windowed shop, the shop of a chemist, and of no less a man than Mr. James Hedger, Mayor of Market Denborough. The member of the lower branch of their common art was a richer man than he who belonged to the higher, and when Mr. Hedger was playfully charged with giving the young Doctor his medicines cheap, he never denied the accusation. Anyhow, the two were good friends, and the Mayor, who was surveying his dominions from his doorstep, broke in on Dr. Roberts' train of thought with a cheerful greeting. "Have you heard the news?" he asked. "No; I've no time for the news. I always look to you for it, Mr. Mayor." "It mostly comes round to me, being a center, like," said the Mayor. "It's natural." "Well, what is it this time?" asked the Doctor, calling up a show of interest. He did not care much for Denborough news. "Littlehill's let," replied the Mayor. Littlehill, the subject of Philip Hume's half-ironical description, was a good house, standing on rising ground about half a mile outside the town. It belonged, of course, to Mr. Delane, and had stood empty for more than a year. A tenant at Littlehill meant an increase of custom for the tradespeople, and perchance for the doctors. Hence the importance of the Mayor's piece of news. "Indeed?" said Roberts. "Who's taken it?" "Not much good--a young man, a bachelor," said the Mayor, shaking his head. Bachelors do not require, or anyhow do not take, many chemist's drugs. "Still, I hear he's well off, and p'r'aps he'll have people to stop with him." "What's his name?" "Some name like Bannister. He's from London." "What's he coming here for?" asked Roberts, who, if he had been a well-to-do bachelor, would not have settled at Market Denborough. "Why shouldn't he?" retorted the Mayor, who had never lived, or thought of living, anywhere else. "Well, I shouldn't have thought he'd have found much to do. He wouldn't come in the summer for the hunting." "Hunting? Not he! He's a literary gentleman--writes poetry and what not." "Poetry? Why, it's not Dale Bannister, is it?" "Ay, that's the name." "Dale Bannister coming to Littlehill! That is an honor for the town!" "An honor? What do you mean, sir?" "Why, he's a famous man, Mr. Mayor. All London's talking of him." "I never heard his name in my life before," said the Mayor. "Oh, he's a genius. His poems are all the rage. You'll have to read them now." "He's having a lot done up there," remarked the Mayor. "Johnstone's got the job. Mr. Bannister don't know as much about Johnstone as some of us."