ch of him.

Well, as I said, this putting up of Macann was a facer for the Duke's men,
and they met at the George and Dragon Inn to talk over their unpopularity.
There was old Squire Martin, as wicked as a buck rat in a sink; and his
son Bob that had lately taken over the Duke's agency; and his brother Ned,
the drunken Vicar of Trancells; and his second cousin John Martin,
otherwise John a Hall, all wit and no character; and old Parson Polsue,
with his curate, old Mr. Grandison, the one almost too shaky to hold a
churchwarden pipe while the other lighted it; and Roger Newte, whose
monument you see over the hill--a dapper, youngish-looking man, very
careful of his finger-nails and smooth in his talk till he got you in a
corner. Last but not least was this Roger Newte, who had settled here as
Collector of Customs and meant to be Mayor next year; a man to go where
the devil can't, and that's between the oak and the rind.

Well, there they were met, drinking punch and smoking their clays and
discussing this and that; and Mr. Newte keeping the peace between John a
Hall, with his ill-regulated tongue, and the old Parson, who, to say
truth, was half the cause of their unpopularity, the church services
having sunk to a public scandal; and yet they durstn't cast him over, by
reason that he owned eight ramshackle houses, and his curate a couple
besides, and by mock-sale could turn these into as many brand-new voters.

"There's nothing for it but pluck," said Mr. Newte. "We must make a new
Poor Rate. They've been asking a new one for years; and, bejimbers!
I hope they'll like the one they get."

The old Squire stroked his chin. "That's a bit too dangerous, Newte."

"Where's the danger? Churchwardens and Overseers, we can count on every
man."

"The parish will appeal, as sure as a gun. King's Bench will send down a
_mandamus_, and the game's up. I don't want to go to prison at my time of
life."

"I know something of the law," said Mr. Newte--and indeed he'd studied it
at Lincoln's Inn, and kept more knowledge under his wig than any man in
the borough. "I know something of law, and there's no question of going
to prison. The Tories will appeal to the next Quarter Sessions, and
Quarter Sessions will maybe quash the Rate; and that'll take time.
Then the Overseers will sit still for a week or two, or a month or two,
until the Tories lose patience and apply to London for a writ. Down comes
the writ, we'll say. Whereup