In the Mayor's Parlour
"That's just it," said Bunning. "Well, then? Why shouldn't his Worship come here at night and stick up there as long as he likes? What's against it?"
"Precedent!" retorted Spizey. "Ain't never been done before--never! Haven't I been in the office I hold nigh on to forty years? Seen a many mayors, aldermen and common councillors come and go in my time. But never do I remember a Mayor coming here to this Moot Hall of a night, with books and papers--which is dangerous matters at any time, except in their proper place, such as my proclamations and the town dockyments--and sitting there for hours, doing--what?"
Bunning shook his head. He was pulling steadily at his pipe as he listened, and he gazed meditatively at the smoke curling away from it and his pipe.
"Well?" he said, after a pause. "And what do you make of it? You'll have some idea, I reckon, a man of your importance."
Once more the Mace-Bearer looked round, and once more applied his fo