Mayor, for example, was His Worship for twelve months and plain Mr. Chipps the grocer ever after--but he, Spizey, was a Permanent Institution, and not to be moved. Spizey was on his way to his favourite tavern now, to smoke his pipe--which it was beneath his dignity to do in public--and drink his glass amongst his cronies, but he stopped to exchange the time of day with Bunning, whom he regarded with patronizing condescension, as being a lesser light than himself. And having remarked that this was a fine evening, after the usual fashion of British folk, who are for ever wasting time and breath in drawing each other's attention to obvious facts, he cocked one of his small eyes at the stairs behind the iron gates. "Worship up there?" he asked, transferring his gaze to Bunning. "Just gone up," answered Bunning. "Five minutes ago." The Mace-Bearer looked up the market-place, down River Gate and along Meadow Gate. Having assured himself that there was nobody within fifty yards, he sank his mellow voice to a melodious whisper, and poked Bunning in the ribs with a pudgy forefinger. "Ah!" he said confidingly. "Just so! Again! Now, as a Corporation official--though not, to be sure, of the long standing that I am--what do you make of it?" "Make of what?" demanded the caretaker. Spizey came still nearer to his companion. He was one of those men who when disposed to confidential communication have a trick of getting as close as possible to their victims, and of poking and prodding them. Again he stuck his finger into Bunning's ribs. "Make of what, says you!" he breathed. "Ay, to be sure! Why, of all this here coming up at night to the Moot Hall, and sitting, all alone, in that there Mayor's Parlour, not to be disturbed by nobody, whosomever! What's it all mean?" "No business of mine," replied Bunning. "Nor of anybody's but his own. That is, so far as I'm aware of. What about it?" Spizey removed his three-cornered hat, took a many-coloured handkerchief out of it, and wiped his forehead--he was in a state of perpetual warmth, and had a habit of mopping his brow when called on for mental effort. "Ah!" he said. "That's just it--what about it, do you say? Well, what I say is this here--'taint in accordance with precedent! Precedent, mark you!--which is what a ancient Corporation of this sort goes by. Where should we all be if what was done by our fathers before us wasn't done by us? What has been, must be! Take me, don't I do what's been done in this here town of Hathelsborough for time immemorial? Well, then!" "That's just it," said Bunning. "Well, then? Why shouldn't his Worship come here at night and stick up there as long as he likes? What's against it?"