But in that case, where had they slept the previous night? They could
not have come down from London that morning; it was too early.
Little Georgie persevered in the production of yells that might have
been heard as far as the Wesleyan Chapel, and certainly as far as the
Conservative Club.
Then Mr Duncalf, the Town Clerk, went by, from his private office,
towards the Town Hall, and saw the singular spectacle of the public man
and the perambulator. Mr Duncalf, too, was a bachelor.
"So you've come down to see 'em," said Mr Duncalf, gruffly, pretending
that the baby was not there.
"See whom?"
"Well, your niece and her husband, of course."
"Where are they?" asked Mr Peel, without having; sufficiently considered
the consequences of his question.
"Aren't they in the Tiger?" said Mr Duncalf. "They put up there
yesterday afternoon, anyhow. But naturally you know that."
He departed, nodding. The baby's extraordinary noise incommoded him and
seemed somehow to make him blush if he stood near it.
Mr Peel did not gasp. It is at least two centuries since men gasped from
astonishment. Nevertheless, Mr Duncalf with those careless words had
simply knocked the breath out of him.
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