The meeting of the Ways and Means Committee which had been called for a
quarter past ten was of more than local importance. It was of national
importance as the Mayor was careful to inform its members, among whom
were the picked brains of the community, when he informally opened the
business. But it was not until twenty minutes to eleven that he was
able to do so. It was not that the Committee itself was unpunctual; it
was simply that one and all had seen that morning's _Tribune_ and that
the common task had perforce to yield for the nonce to their hearty
congratulations.
For one thing, the Mayor had become decidedly popular; for another,
one more glorious page had been written in history by the Blackhampton
born. It was really surprising the number of absolutely eminent people
who at one time or another had contrived to be born at Blackhampton.
In no city in England did local patriotism run higher, in no city in
England was there better warrant for it. The Ways and Means Committee
was quite excited. It was almost childishly delighted at having, as
their Chairman, the rather embarrassed parent of one who, as Sir Reuben
Jope, senior alderman and thrice ex-mayor, said in a well turned
phrase, "bade fair to become the most famous woman in the Empire."
Perhaps a certain piquancy was lent to an event that was already
historical, by the knowledge in possession of those in the inner circle
of municipal life that the Mayor had been hard hit by a former episode
in the dashing career of Miss Sally. That episode belonged to the
pre-war period when the stock of Mr. Josiah Munt did not stand nearly
so high in the market as it did that morning. More than one of these
seated round the council board with their eyes on the Chairman had
relished the public chastening of the lord of Strathfieldsaye. He had
been smitten in a tender place and they were not so sorry for him as
they might have been. But other times other modes of thought. Since
July, 1914, water had flowed under Sharrow Bridge. Nothing could have
been more eloquent of the fact than the rather excited cordiality of
the present gathering.
"I really think, gentlemen," said Sir Reuben Jope, "that the City
should recognize Miss Munt's extremely gallant behavior. I presume, Mr.
Town Clerk, it is competent to do so."
"Oh, quite, sir--oh, quite." In the expressive words in which the Mayor
reconstructed the scene that evening for the benefit of the Mayoress,
"that Aylett was grinning all over his lantern-jawed mug like a Barbary
ape."
"Then I shall propose at the next meeting of the Council that a public
presentation be made to Miss Munt."
"I shall be glad to second that, Sir Reuben," said Mr. Alderman
Limpenny, "when the time comes to do so."
But the Mayor interposed with asperity: "No, no, no, gentlemen. We
can't have anything of the kind. Very good of you, I'm sure, but we
must get on with the business." His worship rapped smartly upon the
municipal mahogany. "This is war time, remember. We've got to discuss
that contract of Perkins and Baylis. Seems to me, as I said at the
last meeting, that those jockeys are over-charging the city forty per
cent. You know, gentlemen, we've got to stop this leakage of public
money. Whatever they may do in Whitehall, we are not going to stand for
it here. Signing blank checks and dropping them in Corporation Square
is not our form. As long as I sit in this chair there is going to be
strict control of the public purse. And there is not going to be graft
in this city neither. This is not Westminster. We don't propose to
allow a public department to make a little mistake in its accounts of
a few odd millions sterling and then jog quietly on as if nothing had
occurred."
"Hear! hear!" from the City Treasurer.
"This war is costing the British people more than seven millions a day
at the present time and to my mind it's wonderful that they are able
to do it at the price. However, gentlemen, that is by the way. Let us
return to the contract of Perkins and Baylis."
Truth to tell the contract of Perkins and Baylis had less attraction
for the Committee at that particular moment than the picture in the
_Tribune_. Somehow, the picture had captured its imagination. Whether
it was the leggings, the "bobbed" hair, the Joan of Arc profile, or the
"gallus" smile of the undefeated Miss Sally, it was quite certain that
the last had not been heard of her historic actions.
The Committee of Ways and Means was not alone in its response to the
picture in the _Tribune_ and the great deeds it commemorated. It was
the talk of the whole city. Josiah moved that day and for many days
in a kind of reflected glory. Wherever he went congratulations were
showered upon him. Three cheers were given him at the Club when he came
in to lunch. There was a decided tendency to identify him personally
with Sally's fame, which, if exceedingly gratifying, was in the
peculiar circumstances not a little disconcerting.
For one thing, he was rather at a loss to know what line he should take
in the matter. On the unhappy occasion of Sally's going to prison he
had written her what he called "a very stiff letter." In pretty blunt
language he had told her that as she had disgraced him in the sight of
the world he should have no more to do with her and that he intended to
disinherit her.
To this letter no reply had been received. It was the kind of letter
which did not call for one. Since that time nothing had passed between
Sally and himself on that subject or on any other. But for some months
now Josiah had rather keenly regretted that his attitude had been so
definite. The war seemed to soften the past and to sharpen the present.
In some respects he was a changed man; one less overbearing in temper,
one less harsh in judgment.
The times had altered. Life itself had altered. He was not a man to cry
over spilt milk, or to deplore the bygone, but at this moment he had
one sharp regret. Some weeks before Sally had burst into fame he had
made up his mind to restore her to his will and meant to write and tell
her so. But for a man of his sort the task was hard and he had weakly
put it off from day to day. And now, alas, it was too late to do it
with the grace of the original intention. It would seem like compulsion
now. Josiah was keenly vexed with himself. Nothing could have been more
eloquent of the rule which hitherto had controlled his life, "Do not
put off until to-morrow, etc." In times like those a cardinal maxim.