t the upshot of the story; and
hilarity was general till a new voice arose with, "This is all very
well; but how about the bad bread?"

It came from the lower end of the table, where there sat a group of
minor tradesmen who, although part of the company, appeared to be a
little below the social level of the others; and who seemed to nourish
a certain independence of opinion and carry on discussions not quite
in harmony with those at the head; just as the west end of a church
is sometimes persistently found to sing out of time and tune with the
leading spirits in the chancel.

This interruption about the bad bread afforded infinite satisfaction to
the loungers outside, several of whom were in the mood which finds its
pleasure in others' discomfiture; and hence they echoed pretty freely,
"Hey! How about the bad bread, Mr. Mayor?" Moreover, feeling none of the
restraints of those who shared the feast, they could afford to add, "You
rather ought to tell the story o' that, sir!"

The interruption was sufficient to compel the Mayor to notice it.

"Well, I admit that the wheat turned out badly," he said. "But I was
taken in in buying it as much as the bakers who bought it o' me."

"And the poor folk who had to eat it whether or no," said the
inharmonious man outside the window.

Henchard's face darkened. There was temper under the thin bland
surface--the temper which, artificially intensified, had banished a wife
nearly a score of years before.

"You must make allowances for the accidents of a large business," he
said. "You must bear in mind that the weather just at the harvest of
that corn was worse than we have known it for years. However, I have
mended my arrangements on account o't. Since I have found my business
too large to be well looked after by myself alone, I have advertised for
a thorough good man as manager of the corn department. When I've got
him you will find these mistakes will no longer occur--matters will be
better looked into."

"But what are you going to do to repay us for the past?" inquired the
man who had before spoken, and who seemed to be a baker or miller. "Will
you replace the grown flour we've still got by sound grain?"

Henchard's face had become still more stern at these interruptions, and
he drank from his tumbler of water as if to calm himself or gain time.
Instead of vouchsafing a direct reply, he stiffly observed--

"If anybody will tell me how to turn grown wheat into wholesome whe