The Mayor of Troy | Page 6

her.
"Georgiana Pescod is positive that he was wild in his youth. But how,"
Miss Sally asked herself, "can Georgiana possibly know? And if he
were--"
I leave you, my reader, as you know the female heart, to continue Miss
Sally's broken musings.
CHAPTER II.
OUR MAYOR.
Cedant arma togae. It is time we turned from the Major to the Mayor,
from the man of gallantry to the magistrate.
You know, I dare say, the story of the King of England and the King of
Portugal. The King of Portugal paid the King of England a visit. "My
brother," said the King of England, after some days, "I wish to ask you
a question." "Say on," said the King of Portugal. "I am curious to know
what in these realms of mine has most impressed you?" The King of
Portugal considered a while. "Your roast beef is excellent," said he.
"And after our roast beef, what next?" The King of Portugal considered
a while longer. "Your boiled beef very nearly approaches it." So, if you
had asked us on what first of all we prided ourselves in Troy, we had
pointed to our Major. If you had asked "What next?" we had pointed to
our Mayor.
And these, our Dioscuri, were one and the same man! In truth, I
suppose we ought to have been proudest of him as Mayor; since as
Mayor he represented the King himself among us--nay, to all intents
and purposes was the King. More than once in his public speeches he
reminded us of this: and we were glad to remember it when--as
sometimes happened--we ran a cargo from Roscoff or Guernsey and
left a cask or two privily behind the Mayor's quay door. We felt then

that his Majesty had been paid duty, and could have no legitimate
grievance against us.
Was there any mental confusion in this? You would pardon it had you
ever been privileged to witness his Sunday procession to church, in
scarlet robe trimmed with sable, in cocked-hat and chain of office; the
mace-bearers marching before in scarlet with puce-coloured capes, the
aldermen following after in tasselled gowns of black; the band ahead
playing "The Girl I left behind Me" (for, although organised for home
defence, our corps had chosen this to be its regimental tune). "Some
talk of Alexander and some of Hercules"--and some of Solomon, who
never saw our Solomon on the bench of justice!
Let me tell you of his famous decision on Sabbath-breaking. One
Sunday afternoon our Mayor's slumbers were interrupted by Jago the
constable, who haled before him a man, a horse, and two pannier-loads
of vegetables, and charged the first-named with this heinous offence.
The fellow--a small tenant-farmer from the outskirts of the
parish--could not deny that he had driven his cart down to the Town
Quay, unharnessed, and started in a loud voice to cry his wares. There,
almost on the instant, Jago had taken him in flagrante delicto, and,
having an impediment in his speech, had used no words but collared
him.
"What have you to say for yourself?" the Mayor demanded.
"Darn me if I know what's amiss with the town to-day!" the culprit
made answer. "Be it a funeral?"
"You are charged with trading, or attempting to trade, on the Sabbath;
and sad hearing this will be for your old parents, John Polkinghorne."
John Polkinghorne scratched his head. "You ben't going to tell me that
this be Sunday!" (You see, the poor fellow, living so far in the country,
had somehow miscounted the week, and ridden in to market a day late.)
"Sunday?" cried the Mayor. "Look at my Bible, there, 'pon the table!
Look at my clean bandanna!"--this was his handkerchief, that he had

been wearing over his face while he dozed, to keep off the flies.
"Good Lord! And me all this morning in the homefield scoading dung!"
"You go home this instant, and take every bit of that dung off again
before sunset," commanded the Mayor, "and if the Lord says no more
about it, we'll overlook the case."
Maybe you have never heard either of his famous examination of Sarah
Mennear, of the "Three Pilchards" Inn (commonly known as the
"Kettle of Fish "), who applied for a separation, alleging that her
husband had kissed her by mistake for another woman.
"What other woman?" demanded his Worship.
"Sorra wan o' me knows," answered Sarah, who came of Irish
extraction.
Her tale went that the previous evening, a little after twilight, she was
walking up the street and had gone by the door of the "Ship" Inn, when
a man staggered out into the roadway and followed her. By the sound
of his footsteps she took him for some drunken sailor, and was hurrying
on (but not fast, by