Edward Henry could not tolerate Mr. Bryany’s look. It was a look which he had never been able to tolerate on the features of anybody whatsoever. He reminded himself that his secret object in accompanying Mr. Bryany to the Turk’s Head was to repay Mr. Bryany--in what coin he knew not yet--for the aspersions which at the music-hall he had cast upon England in general and upon the Five Towns in particular, and also to get revenge for having been tricked into believing, even for a moment, that there was really a case of hydrophobia at Bleakridge. It is true that Mr. Bryany was innocent of this deception, which had been accomplished by Robert Brindley, but that was a detail which did not trouble Edward Henry, who lumped his grievances together--for convenience. He had been reflecting that some sentimental people, unused to the ways of paternal affection in the Five Towns, might consider him a rather callous father; he had been reflecting, again, that Nellie’s suggestion of blood-poisoning might not be as entirely foolish as feminine suggestions in such circumstances too often are. But now he put these thoughts away, reassuring himself against hydrophobia anyhow, by the recollection of the definite statement of the Encyclopedia. Moreover, had he not inspected the wound--as healthy a wound as you could wish for? And he said in a new tone, very curtly: "Now, Mr. Bryany, what about this little affair of yours?" He saw that Mr. Bryany accepted the implied rebuke with the deference properly shown by a man who needs something towards the man in possession of what he needs. And studying the fellow’s countenance, he decided that, despite its brassiness and simple cunning, it was scarcely the countenance of a rascal. "Well, it’s like this," said Mr. Bryany, sitting down opposite Edward Henry at the centre table, and reaching with obsequious liveliness for the despatch-box. He drew from the despatch-box, which was lettered "W.C.B.," first a cut-glass flask of whisky, with a patent stopper, and then a spacious box of cigarettes. "I always travel with the right sort," he remarked, holding the golden liquid up to the light. "It’s safer, and it saves any trouble with orders after closing-time. These English hotels, you know--!" So saying, he dispensed whisky and cigarettes, there being a siphon and glasses, and three matches in a match-stand, on the table. "Here’s looking!" he said, with raised glass. And Edward Henry responded, in conformity with the changeless ritual of the Five Towns: "I looks!" And they sipped. Whereupon Mr. Bryany next drew from the despatch-box a piece of transparent paper. "I want you to look at this plan of Piccadilly Circus and environs," said he. Now there is a Piccadilly in Hanbridge; also a Pall Mall, and a Chancery Lane. The adjective "metropolitan," applied to Hanbridge is just.