Jabez Tinker was as little pleased as his spiritual guide with the rumours to which he could not well be deaf, concerning the success of the novel enterprise of his former apprentice. From the first he had predicted disaster for the venture. It was the crack-brained scheme of an addle-pated enthusiast and a misguided, self-opinionated youth. That was his opinion, and he did not keep his opinion to himself. But as time went on and the bankruptcy he had foretold did not overwhelm the Co-op Mill; as old and tried hands who had been with him for years, one after the other, left Wilberlee for the small concern higher up the stream, Jabez began to feel the irritation of the prophet whose vaticinations have come to nought. It would not be fair to say that Jabez begrudged Tom and Ben their success. That success could scarcely be considered to have injured him in his business. The operations, the rise or fall of Co-op Mill, were in his eyes beneath anything but contemptuous notice. But he could not conceal from himself that he would have better pleased to have seen Tom coming to him, cap in hand, to sue for reinstatement at Wilberlee. He had a sort of rankling resentment against Tom for refusing his own proffer of protection and advancement. When he had made that offer he had plumbed himself on his magnanimity--and, indeed, it was a generous offer. Jabez Tinker's pride was wounded, and Jabez Tinker was a proud man. One day he chanced to meet Nehemiah Wimpenny, the lawyer. It was near the time for the elections to the Local Board, of which Mr. Tinker had been so long the chairman and autocrat that the other members of the Board might just as well have stopped at home as attended the monthly meetings. Wimpenny was the clerk. "Well, we shall soon have the elections upon us, Mr. Tinker, and I suppose you have heard the news. Rum start, isn't it? What next, I wonder." "I've heard no particular news that I'm aware of, Wimpenny. I'm no gad-about, as you know." "Ah, well! It's an old saying that we've to go from home to hear news, especially if it happens to concern ourselves. Not that this is likely to give you much uneasiness." "Well what is it?" asked Tinker, uneasily. "Oh! It's hardly worth retailing. Sorry I mentioned it; but they are saying in the village you are to be opposed at the next election." "Me! Opposed! Well, I'm ready, and pray, who is to be my 'honourable opponent,'--that's the expression, isn't it? 'Pon my word, I'll relish a good stand-up fight. I've been returned unopposed so often that a good, vigorous opposition will do me good." "Well," said Wimpenny slowly, "I'm not sure you'll think your honourable opponent a foeman worthy of your steel. You'll never guess who they're talking about." Mr. Tinker rapidly reviewed, mentally, all men of the neighbourhood likely to enter the lists against him. "I'm a bad hand at conundrums," he said, "I give it up." "What would you say to that insolent young upstart at Co-op Mill?"