From four o’clock onwards, Mr Blackshaw, in the solemn, illuminated privacy of the managerial office, safe behind glass partitions, could no more contain his excitement.  He hovered in front of the telephone, waiting for it to ring.  Then, at a quarter to five, just when he felt he couldn’t stand it any longer, and was about to ring up his wife instead of waiting for her to ring him up, he saw a burly shadow behind the glass door, and gave a desolate sigh.  That shadow could only be thrown by one person, and that person was his Worship the Mayor of Bursley.  His Worship entered the private office with mayoral assurance, pulling in his wake a stout old lady whom he introduced as his aunt from Wolverhampton.  And he calmly proposed that Mr Blackshaw should show the mayoral aunt over the new Electricity Works!

Mr Blackshaw was sick of showing people over the Works.  Moreover, he naturally despised the Mayor.  All permanent officials of municipalities thoroughly despise their mayors (up their sleeves).  A mayor is here today and gone tomorrow, whereas a permanent official is permanent.  A mayor knows nothing about anything except his chain and the rules of debate, and he is, further, a tedious and meddlesome person—­in the opinion of permanent officials.

So Mr Blackshaw’s fury at the inept appearance of the Mayor and the mayoral aunt at this critical juncture may be imagined.  The worst of it was, he didn’t know how to refuse the Mayor.

Then the telephone-bell rang.

‘Excuse me,’ said Mr Blackshaw, with admirably simulated politeness, going to the instrument.  ‘Are you there?  Who is it?’

‘It’s me, darling,’ came the thin voice of his wife far away at Bleakridge.  ’The water’s just getting hot.  We’re nearly ready.  Can you come now?’

‘By Jove!  Wait a moment!’ exclaimed Mr Blackshaw, and then turning to his visitors, ‘Did you hear that?’

‘No,’ said the Mayor.

’All those three new dynamos that they’ve got at the Hanbridge Electricity Works have just broken down.  I knew they would.  I told them they would!’

‘Dear, dear!’ said the Mayor of Bursley, secretly delighted by this disaster to a disdainful rival.  ’Why!  They’ll have the town in darkness.  What are they going to do?’

’They want me to go over at once.  But, of course, I can’t.  At least, I must give myself the pleasure of showing you and this lady over our Works, first.’

‘Nothing of the kind, Mr Blackshaw!’ said the Mayor.  ’Go at once.  Go at once.  If Bursley can be of any assistance to Hanbridge in such a crisis, I shall be only too pleased.  We will come tomorrow, won’t we, auntie?’

Mr Blackshaw addressed the telephone.

’The Mayor is here, with a lady, and I was just about to show them over the Works, but his Worship insists that I come at once.’

‘Certainly,’ the Mayor put in pompously.

‘Wonders will never cease,’ came the thin voice of Mrs Blackshaw through the telephone.  ’It’s very nice of the old thing!  What’s his lady friend like?’