“Would he” (so he asked the lieutenant privately) “get some one to join him, and present a few of these nuisances?”

He would do anything in his contempt for “a lot of long-shore merchant-skippers and herringers, who went about calling themselves captains, and fancy themselves, sir, as good as if they wore the Queen’s uniform!”

“Well, then, can’t we find another householder—­some cantankerous dog who don’t mind a row?”

Yes, the cantankerous dog was found, in the person of Mr. John Penruddock, coal-merchant, who had quarrelled with Tardrew, because Tardrew said he gave short weight—­which he very probably did—­and had quarrelled also with Thomas Beer, senior, shipbuilder, about right of passage through a back-yard.

Mr. Penruddock suddenly discovered that Mr. Beer kept up a dirt-heap in the said back-yard, and with virtuous indignation vowed “he’d sarve the old beggar out at last.”

So far so good.  The weapons of reason and righteousness having failed, Tom felt at liberty to borrow the devil’s tools.  Now to pack a vestry, and to nominate a local committee.

The vestry was packed; the committee nominated:  of course half of them refused to act—­they “didn’t want to go quarrelling with their neighbours.”

Tom explained to them cunningly and delicately that they would have nothing to do; that one or two (he did not say that he was the one, and the two also) would do all the work, and bear all the odium; whereon the malcontents subsided, considering it likely that, after all, nothing would be done.

Some may fancy that matters were now getting somewhat settled.  Those who do so know little of the charming machinery of local governments.  One man has “summat to say,”—­utterly irrelevant.  Another must needs answer him with something equally irrelevant; a long chatter ensues, in spite of all cries to order and question.  Soon one and another gets personal, and temper shows here and there.  You would fancy that the go-ahead party try to restore order, and help business on.  Not in the least.  They have begun to cool a little.  They are a little afraid that they have committed themselves.  If people quarrel with each other, perhaps they may quarrel with them too.  And they begin to be wonderfully patient and impartial, in the hope of staving off the evil day, and finding some excuse for doing nothing after all.  “Hear ’mun out!” ...  “Vair and zoft, let ev’ry man ha’ his zay!” ...  “There’s vary gude rason in it!” ...  “I didn’t think of that avore;”—­and so forth; till in a quarter of an hour the whole question has to be discussed over again, through the fog of a dozen fresh fallacies, and the miserable earnest man finds himself considerably worse off than when he began.  Happy for him if some chance word is not let drop, which will afford the whole assembly an excuse for falling on him open-mouthed, as the cause of all their woes!

That chance word came.  Mr. Penruddock gave a spiteful hit, being, as he said, of a cantankerous turn, to Mr. Treluddra, principal “jowder,” i.e. fish salesman, of Aberalva.  Whereon Treluddra, whose conscience told him that there was at present in his back-yard a cartload and more of fish in every stage of putrefaction, which he had kept rotting there rather than lower the market-price, rose in wrath.