"A young man, sir--a sort of traveller. He was a Scotchman seemingly."
"Did he say how he had got it?"
"He wrote it himself, sir, as he stood outside the window."
"Oh--wrote it himself....Is the young man in the hotel?"
"No, sir. He went to the Three Mariners, I believe."
The mayor walked up and down the vestibule of the hotel with his hands
under his coat tails, as if he were merely seeking a cooler atmosphere
than that of the room he had quitted. But there could be no doubt that
he was in reality still possessed to the full by the new idea, whatever
that might be. At length he went back to the door of the dining-room,
paused, and found that the songs, toasts, and conversation were
proceeding quite satisfactorily without his presence. The Corporation,
private residents, and major and minor tradesmen had, in fact, gone
in for comforting beverages to such an extent that they had quite
forgotten, not only the Mayor, but all those vast, political, religious,
and social differences which they felt necessary to maintain in the
daytime, and which separated them like iron grills. Seeing this the
Mayor took his hat, and when the waiter had helped him on with a thin
holland overcoat, went out and stood under the portico.
Very few persons were now in the street; and his eyes, by a sort of
attraction, turned and dwelt upon a spot about a hundred yards further
down.
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