The Constable and Sheriff punctuated
their converse by prodigious and dexterous spitting into a dangerously
far receptacle, and the clerks and police murmured together. The Mayor,
finally glancing at a watch enamelled, Jasper Penny saw, with a fay of
the ballet, spoke to the room in general. "Ten and past. Well! Well!
Where are the others? Who is to come still, Hoffernan?"
"Mr. Jannan, sir; and a witness," a clerk answered. The other gazed at
the paper before him.
"Susan Brundon," he read in a loud, uncompromising tone. Jasper Penny's
eyes narrowed belligerently; he would see that these pothouse
politicians gave Susan every consideration possible. He was, with
Stephen, a far from negligible force in the city elections. "School
mistress," the Mayor read on. "Never heard of her or her school. Ah--"
Stephen Jannan had entered with Susan.
Jasper rose as she came forward, and the Mayor had the grace to remove
his hat. She wore, he saw, the familiar dress of wool, with a sober,
fringed black silk mantle, black gloves and an inconspicuous bonnet. She
met his harried gaze, and smiled; but beneath her greeting he was aware
of a supreme tension. There was, however, no perceptible nervousness in
the manner of her accepting an indicated place; she sat with her hands
quietly folded in her lap, the mantle drooping back over the chair.
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