"Well, I did hear, but I've a'most forgot," said Mr. Moule, who was of a misty and a muddled nature. "No, now I reck'lect, it was young Bokenham!" "What, son of old Tom Bokenham of Blott's Mills?" asked Mr. Spalding. "That same! Old man's terrible rich, they du say; firm was Bokenham and Sculthorpe, but Sculthorpe broke his leg huntin' wi' Squire Peacock's harriers, and has been out of business for some time." "He's just built two saw-mills in Galabin Street, hasn't he?" asked Mr. Croke. "He has, and that plant in Harmer's Row is his too. Young Tom, he's lawyer up in London--lawyer they say, tho' I thowt he was a parson, as they told me he lives in a Temple, and he's wonderful clever in speakin' at club-meetin's and suchlike, and they du say that he's not only a Lib'ral, but"--and here Mr. Moule sank his voice to a whisper to give due horror to his revelation--"that he's an out-and-out Rad.!" "You don't say that!" said Farmer Adams, pushing away his chair with a creak, and gazing with terror at the speaker. "They du!" said Mr. Moule, delighted and astonished to find himself of so much importance. "That's a bad job!" said Mr. Croke reflectively; "they carry a main lot o' weight in this borough do they Bokenhams--a main lot of weight!" And Mr. Croke shook his head with great solemnity. "Don't be down-hearted, Mr. Croke!" said Mr. Teesdale, who had been a silent and an amused spectator of this scene. "No doubt Tommy Bokenham, who they say is a clever chap, and who'll be well backed by his father's banking account, is a formidable opponent. But I much doubt if our side won't be able to bring forward some one with as good a head on his shoulders and as much brass in his pockets!" "Where's he to be found, Muster Teesdale? Sir George won't stand, and it would welly nigh break any one else's back in the neighbr'ood, 'less it were young Rideout, and all his money goes in horse-racin'!" "What should you say," said Mr. Teesdale, becoming very much swollen with importance--"what should you say to Mr. Creswell?" "Muster Creswell! What, Squire Creswell, your master, Muster Teesdale?" exclaimed Croke, completely astounded. "My _employer_--Squire Creswell, my _employer!_" said Mr. Teesdale, making a mental note to refuse Farmer Croke the very next request he made, no matter what it might be. "Are you in ayrnest, Muster Teesdale?" asked Spalding. "Is th' old squire comin' forward for Parlyment?" "He is, indeed, Mr. Spalding," replied Teesdale; "and he'll make the Lion his head-quarters, won't he, Mr. Tilley?" he said to the old landlord, who had just entered bearing a steaming bowl of punch.