CHANTREY. [With a low whistle] Daughter! Charity begins at home.
HARRIS. There's a black eye.
MAYOR. Whose?
HARRIS. The constable's.
CHANTREY. How did the police come into it?
HARRIS. I don't know, sir. The worst of it is he's been at the police
station since four o'clock yesterday. The Superintendent's away, and
Martin never will take responsibility.
CHANTREY. By George! he will be mad. John Builder's a choleric fellow.
MAYOR. [Nodding] He is. 'Ot temper, and an 'igh sense of duty.
HARRIS. There's one other charge, Mr Mayor--poaching. I told them to
keep that back till after.
CHANTREY. Oh, well, we'll make short work of that. I want to get off by
eleven, Harris. I shall be late for the first drive anyway. John
Builder! I say, Mayor--but for the grace of God, there go we!
MAYOR. Harris, go out and bring them in yourself; don't let the
servants--
HARRIS goes out Left. The MAYOR takes the upper chair behind the
bureau, sitting rather higher because of the book than CHANTREY, who
takes the lower. Now that they are in the seats of justice, a sort
of reticence falls on them, as if they were afraid of giving away
their attitudes of mind to some unseen presence.
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