"What's
that?" he said.
Mr. Lavender ran his hands through his hair.
"And turns," he said, "on what is the unit of national feeling and
intelligence? Is it or is it not a Mayor?"
The Personage smiled. "Well, what do you think?" he said. "Haven't you
ever heard them after dinner? There's no question about it. Make your
mind easy if that's your only trouble."
Mr. Lavender, greatly cheered by the genial certainty in this answer,
said: "I thank you, sir. I shall go back and refute that common scoffer,
that caster of doubts. I have seen the Truth face, to face, and am
greatly encouraged to further public effort. With many apologies I can
now get out," he added, as the train stopped at South Croydon. "Blink!"
And, followed by his dog, he stepped from the train.
The Personage, who was indeed no other than the private secretary of the
private secretary of It whom Mr. Lavender had designated as the Truth
watched him from the window.
"Well, that WAS a treat, dear papa!" he murmured to himself, emitting a
sigh of smoke after his retreating interlocutor.
XIX
IS IN PERIL OF THE STREET
On the Sunday following this interview with the Truth Mr. Lavender, who
ever found the day of rest irksome to his strenuous spirit, left his
house after an early supper.
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