“Oh, damn the divisions!” burst in Mr. Frank Hawley, lawyer and town-clerk, who rarely presented himself at the board, but now looked in hurriedly, whip in hand.  “We have nothing to do with them here.  Farebrother has been doing the work—­what there was—­without pay, and if pay is to be given, it should be given to him.  I call it a confounded job to take the thing away from Farebrother.”

“I think it would be as well for gentlemen not to give their remarks a personal bearing,” said Mr. Plymdale.  “I shall vote for the appointment of Mr. Tyke, but I should not have known, if Mr. Hackbutt hadn’t hinted it, that I was a Servile Crawler.”

“I disclaim any personalities.  I expressly said, if I may be allowed to repeat, or even to conclude what I was about to say—­”

“Ah, here’s Minchin!” said Mr. Frank Hawley; at which everybody turned away from Mr. Hackbutt, leaving him to feel the uselessness of superior gifts in Middlemarch.  “Come, Doctor, I must have you on the right side, eh?”

“I hope so,” said Dr. Minchin, nodding and shaking hands here and there; “at whatever cost to my feelings.”

“If there’s any feeling here, it should be feeling for the man who is turned out, I think,” said Mr. Frank Hawley.

“I confess I have feelings on the other side also.  I have a divided esteem,” said Dr. Minchin, rubbing his hands.  “I consider Mr. Tyke an exemplary man—­none more so—­and I believe him to be proposed from unimpeachable motives.  I, for my part, wish that I could give him my vote.  But I am constrained to take a view of the case which gives the preponderance to Mr. Farebrother’s claims.  He is an amiable man, an able preacher, and has been longer among us.”

Old Mr. Powderell looked on, sad and silent.  Mr. Plymdale settled his cravat, uneasily.

“You don’t set up Farebrother as a pattern of what a clergyman ought to be, I hope,” said Mr. Larcher, the eminent carrier, who had just come in.  “I have no ill-will towards him, but I think we owe something to the public, not to speak of anything higher, in these appointments.  In my opinion Farebrother is too lax for a clergyman.  I don’t wish to bring up particulars against him; but he will make a little attendance here go as far as he can.”

“And a devilish deal better than too much,” said Mr. Hawley, whose bad language was notorious in that part of the county.  “Sick people can’t bear so much praying and preaching.  And that methodistical sort of religion is bad for the spirits—­bad for the inside, eh?” he added, turning quickly round to the four medical men who were assembled.

But any answer was dispensed with by the entrance of three gentlemen, with whom there were greetings more or less cordial.  These were the Reverend Edward Thesiger, Rector of St. Peter’s, Mr. Bulstrode, and our friend Mr. Brooke of Tipton, who had lately allowed himself to be put on the board of directors in his turn, but had never before attended, his attendance now being due to Mr. Bulstrode’s exertions.  Lydgate was the only person still expected.