The treat, which took the form of a dinner, was an unqualified success; it surpassed all expectations.  Even the diners themselves were satisfied—­a rare thing at such affairs.  Goose was a prominent item in the menu.  After the repast the replete guests were entertained from the platform, the Mayor being, of course, in the chair.  Harry sang ’In Old Madrid,’ accompanied by his stepmother, with faultless expression.  Mr. Duncalf astonished everybody with the famous North-Country recitation, ‘The Patent Hair-brushing Mashane.’  There were also a banjo solo, a skirt dance of discretion, and a campanological turn.  At last, towards ten o’clock, Mr. Gordon, who had hitherto done nothing, rose in his place, amid good-natured cries of ‘Gas!’

‘I feel sure you will all agree with me,’ he began, ’that this evening would not be complete without a vote of thanks—­a very hearty vote of thanks—­to our excellent host and chairman.’

Ear-splitting applause.

‘I’ve got a little story to tell you,’ he continued—­’a story that up to this moment has been a close secret between his Worship the Mayor and myself.’  His Worship looked up sharply at the speaker.  ’You’ve heard about some geese, I reckon. (Laughter.) Well, you’ve not heard all, but I’m going to tell you.  I can’t keep it to myself any longer.  You think his Worship drove those geese—­I hope they’re digesting well (loud laughter)—­just for fun.  He didn’t.  I was with him when he bought them, and I happened to say that goosedriving was a very difficult accomplishment.’

‘Depends on the geese!’ shouted a voice.

‘Yes, it does,’ Mr. Gordon admitted.  ’Well, his Worship contradicted me, and we had a bit of an argument.  I don’t bet, as you know—­at least, not often—­but I don’t mind confessing that I offered to bet him a sovereign he couldn’t drive his geese half a mile.  “Look here, Gordon,” he said to me:  “there’s a lot of distress in the town just now—­trade bad, and so on, and so on.  I’ll lay you a level ten pounds I drive these geese to Hillport myself, the loser to give the money to charity.”  “Done,” I said.  “Don’t say anything about it,” he says.  “I won’t,” I says—­but I am doing. (Applause.) I feel it my duty to say something about it. (More applause.) Well, I lost, as you all know.  He drove ’em to Hillport. (’Good old Jos!’) That’s not all.  The Mayor insisted on putting his own ten pounds to mine and making it twenty.  Here are the two identical notes, his and mine.’  Mr. Gordon waved the identical notes amid an uproar.  ’We’ve decided that everyone who has dined here to-night shall receive a brand-new shilling.  I see Mr. Septimus Lovatt from the bank there with a bag.  He will attend to you as you go out. (Wild outbreak and tumult of rapturous applause.) And now three cheers for your Mayor—­and Mayoress!’

It was colossal, the enthusiasm.

‘And for Gas Gordon!’ called several voices.