‘Ah! good-mornin’ again!  I was just talkin’ about you and your pigeons,’ said Mr Garraway, frankly.

‘Good-morning, y’r Worship,’ echoed Butcher Trengrove.  ’And what can I do for y’r Worship this fine morning?  I was just allowin’ to Mr Garraway here that, seein’ the young dare-devils had left you a bird with their compliments, maybe you’d fancy a nice cut of rumpsteak to fill out a pie.’

‘This isn’t exactly a laughing matter, Mr Trengrove.’

‘No, no, to be sure!’ Butcher Trengrove composed his broad smile apologetically.  But, after a moment, observing Mr Pinsent’s face and that (at what cost he guessed not) it kept its humorous twist, he let his features relax.  ‘I was allowin’ though, that if any man could get even with a bit of fun, it would be y’r Worship.’

’Oh, never fear but I’ll get even with ’em,’ promised his Worship, affecting an easiness he did not feel.

‘Monstrous, though! monstrous!’ pursued the butcher.  ’The boys of this town be gettin’ past all control.  Proper young limbs, I call some of ’em.’

‘And there’s the fellow that’s to blame,’ put in Mr Garraway, with a nod at a little man hurrying past the shop, on the opposite pavement.  This was Mr Lupus, the schoolmaster, on his way to open school.  ‘Hi!  Mr Lupus!’

Mr Lupus gave a start, came to a halt, and turned on the shop door a pair of mildly curious eyes guarded by moon-shaped spectacles.  Mr Lupus lived with an elderly sister who kept a bakehouse beside the Ferry Landing, and there in extra-scholastic hours he earned a little money by writing letters for seamen.  His love-letters had quite a reputation, and he penned them in a beautiful hand, with flourishes around the capital letters; but in Troy he passed for a person of small account.

‘I—­I beg your pardon, gentlemen!  Were you calling to me?’ stammered Mr Lupus.

‘Good-morning, Lupus!’ The mayor nodded to him.  ’We were just saying that you bring up the boys of this town shamefully.  Yes, sir, shamefully.’

‘No, indeed, your Worship,’ protested Mr Lupus, looking up with a timid smile, as he drew off his spectacles and polished them.  ’Your Worship is pleasant with me.  I do assure you, gentlemen, that my boys are very good boys, and give me scarcely any trouble.’

’That’s because you sit at school in your daydreams, and don’t take note of the mischief that goes on around you.  A set of anointed young scoundrels, Mr Lupus!’

’You don’t mean it, sir.  Oh, to be sure you don’t mean it!  Your Worship’s funny way of putting things is well known, if I may say so.  But they are good boys, on the whole, very good boys; and you should see the regularity with which they attend.  I sometimes wish—­meaning no offence—­that you gentlemen of position in the town would drop in upon us a little oftener.  It would give you a better idea of us, indeed it would.  For my boys are very good boys, and for regularity of attendance we will challenge any school in Cornwall, sir, if you will forgive my boasting.’