At the august appearance of the Mayor my less
civically distinguished friends departed. His eyes brightened as
they fell on me and he shook hands vigorously.
"My dear Duncan, I was just on my way to you. Only heard this
morning that you've been seedy. Knocked up, I suppose, by your
journey to town. Just heard of that, too. Must have thought me a
brute not to enquire. But Edith and I didn't know. I was away all
yesterday. These infernal tribunals. With the example of men like
Leonard Boyce before their eyes, it makes one sick to look at
able-bodied young Englishmen trying to wriggle out of their duty
to the country. Well, dear old chap, how are you?"
I assured him that I had recovered from Cliffe and was in my usual
state of health. He rubbed his hands.
"That's good. Now give me all the news. What is Boyce's condition?
When will he be able to be moved? When do you think he'll come
back to Wellingsford?"
At this series of questions I pricked a curious ear.
"Am I speaking to the man or the Mayor?"
"The Mayor," said he. "I wish to goodness I could get you inside,
so that you and I and Winterbotham could talk things over."
Winterbotham was the Town Clerk.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359