e Mayor, as he came up to the iron gates before
which the ex-sergeant-major stood, still at attention, "I shall be in
the Mayor's Parlour for some time to-night, and I'm not to be disturbed,
as usual. Except, however, for this--I'm expecting my cousin, Mr. Brent,
from London, this evening, and I left word at my rooms that if he came
any time before ten he was to be sent on here. So, if he comes, show him
up to me. But nobody else, Bunning."

"Very good, your Worship," replied Bunning. "I'll see to it. Mr. Brent,
from London."

"You've seen him before," said the Mayor. "He was here last
Christmas--tall young fellow, clean-shaven. You'll know him."

He hurried inside the stone hall and went away by the stairs to the
upper regions of the gloomy old place, and Bunning, with another salute,
turned from him, pulled out his pipe and began to smoke again. He was
never tired of looking out on that old market-place; even in the
quietest hours of the evening there was always something going on,
something to be seen, trivial things, no doubt, but full of interest to
Bunning: folks coming and going; young people sweethearting;
acquaintances passing and re-passing; these things were of more
importance to his essentially parochial mind than affairs of State.

Presently came along another Corporation official, whom Bunning knew as
well as he knew the Mayor, an official who, indeed, was known all over
the town, and familiar to everybody, from the mere fact that he was
always attired in a livery the like of which he and his predecessors had
been wearing for at least two hundred years. This was Spizey, a
consequential person who, in the borough rolls for the time being, was
entered as Bellman, Town Crier, and Mace Bearer. Spizey was a big,
fleshy man, with a large solemn face, a ponderous manner, and small
eyes. His ample figure was habited at all seasons of the year in a
voluminous cloak which had much gold lace on its front and cuffs and
many capes about the shoulders; he wore a three-cornered laced hat on
his bullet head, and carried a tall staff, not unlike a wand, in his
hand. There were a few--very few--progressive folk in Hathelsborough who
regarded Spizey and his semi-theatrical attire as an anachronism, and
openly derided both, but so far nobody had dared to advocate the
abolition of him and his livery. He was part and parcel of the high
tradition, a reminder of the fact that Hathelsborough possessed a
Charter of Incorporatio