You shall see
in that play, if I mistake not, homes full of love and honour, men
and women of fair fame. It may be you shall see, then, some whose
names are known and honoured of all men."
Each performer quaked with fear, and both sympathy and approval
were in the applause. Miss Polly Vaughn was a rare picture of
rustic beauty, her cheeks as red as her ribbons, her voice low and
sweet. Trove came out in the audience for a look at her as she
read. Ringing salvos of laughter greeted the play and stirred the
sleigh-bells on the startled horses beyond the door. The programme
over, somebody called for Squire Town, a local pettifogger, who
flung his soul and body into every cause. He often sored his
knuckles on the court table and racked his frame with the violence
of his rhetoric. He had a stock of impassioned remarks ready for
all occasions.
He rose, walked to the centre of the stage, looked sternly at the
people, and addressed them as "Fellow Citizens." He belaboured the
small table; he rose on tiptoe and fell upon his heels; often he
seemed to fling his words with a rapid jerk of his right arm as one
hurls a pebble. It was all in praise of his "young friend," the
teacher, and the high talent of Linley School.
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