an opinion, you know, if he doesn't intrude it upon the public too much."
Craddock went home in a mollified frame of mind. He felt that he had gained his point and held his ground, and he respected himself accordingly. He felt too that his associates had additional right to respect him. It was their ground too, and he had held it for them as well as for himself. He stopped at The Crown for his midday glass of ale; and his self-satisfaction was so evident that his friends observed it, and remarked among themselves that "th' owd lad wur pickin' up his crumbs a bit."
"Yo're lookin' graidely to-day, Sammy," said one.
"I'm feelin' a trifle graidelier than I ha' done," he answered, oracularly. "Things is lookin' up."
"I'm main glad to hear it. Tell us as how."
"Well,"—with studied indifference,—"it's noan so great luck i' comparison, but it's summat to be thankfu' fur to a mon as is down i' th' world. I've getten the lodge-keeper's place at Mr. Haviland's."
"Tha' nivver says! Who'd a' thowt it? How ivver did that coom about?"
"Friends i' coort," with dignity. "Friends i' coort. Hond me that jug o' ale, Tummy. Haviland's a mon o' discretion, if he is a Member o' Parlyment. We've had quoite a friendly chat this mornin' as we set i' th' loibery together. He is na so bad i' his pollytics after aw's said an done. He'll do, upo' th' whole."
"Yo' stood up to him free enow, I warrant," said Tummy. "Th' gentle folk dunnot often hear sich free speakin' as yo' gi' 'em, Sammy."
"Well, I had to be a bit indypeiident; it wur nat'ral. It would na ha' done to ha' turnt soft, if he wur th' mester an I me th' mon. But he's a mon o' sense, as I say, an' he
