“Not coming in,” he said, with a wink. “No fear! Not me! Got my rep’tation to consider. I sh’d never ’old up my ’ead again. Warm lot, you Londoners. Thank goodness I was born ’n bred in the country. Honest man, that’s what I am, and I don’t care who says I’m not. You never catch me ’ugging a girl in middle of the roadway. Not me!” A council was held so soon as the maid came back. Mary had assured Mrs. Larch that her master and her mistress were married, for she herself was present at the wedding, and the lady offered two suggestions: one that Mary’s eyesight was defective, the other that people only used a foreign language when they desired to say something that could not be spoken in decent English. Mary, having delivered the news, stood back and waited. “Have you no suggestion to make, my dear?” asked the worried Mr. Gleeson. His wife shook her head despondently. “Excuse me, sir,” said the maid, with respect, “but me and Emma have been talking it over, and as she says the doctor ordered you quiet, and you haven’t yet succeeded in letting the house at Kensington, what’s to prevent us from—” “Get the A.B.C.,” he ordered. “We’ll find out what time there’s a train back to town in the morning.” XV—REWARD FOR COURAGE THE Committee gave Mr. Mayor the time to put on, with the aid of his man, the official garments. One member asked who was looking after Enderby, and the agitated young secretary ran into the largest room in the Town Hall, returned with the satisfactory assurance that the man was seated in the front row, well guarded by friends. “These brave chaps,” remarked the member who had put the alarming inquiry, “often have a peculiar strain of—er—modesty in their disposition. You can never quite depend upon them as you would on ordinary people. Mr. Secretary, what’s the programme for the afternoon? Have you drawn up an agenda? Don’t call on me, if you can help it, but if it’s absolutely necessary, of course—” Mr. Secretary exhibited the sheet of foolscap paper; members of the Committee whose names figured there expressed approval; the rest mentioned a fear that they might not be able to stay until the end. “Mr. Mayor!” His Worship came forward to be greeted by those acquainted with him, to be introduced to others. Everybody said it was good of the Mayor to give up so much of his time, and he declared it was good of them to do so. “But some one,” he went on, with determination, “some one must give me a sort of a notion of an idea of what I’m supposed to talk about. I want a few facts pencilled down, just to go on with, as it were.” The secretary produced a type-written document, tendered a case containing a medal. “I see!” nodding as he glanced at the sheet. “Jumped in at risk of life. Brought child to bank. Persuaded with difficulty to give name and address. Very fine, indeed. Capital. First-rate. Now, how long shall I take? Thirty minutes?” “Less than that, Mr. Mayor, if you like.”