Black Jack was hanged.

Many years after all this Bursley built itself a new Town Hall (with a
spire, and a gold angel on the top in the act of crowning the bailiwick
with a gold crown), and began to think about getting up in the world.

* * * * *




MARY WITH THE HIGH HAND


In the front-bedroom of Edward Beechinor's small house in Trafalgar Road
the two primary social forces of action and reaction--those forces which
under a thousand names and disguises have alternately ruled the world
since the invention of politics--were pitted against each other in a
struggle rendered futile by the equality of the combatants. Edward
Beechinor had his money, his superior age, and the possible advantage of
being a dying man; Mark Beechinor had his youth and his devotion to an
ideal. Near the window, aloof and apart, stood the strange, silent girl
whose aroused individuality was to intervene with such effectiveness on
behalf of one of the antagonists. It was early dusk on an autumn day.

'Tell me what it is you want, Edward,' said Mark quietly. 'Let us come
to the point.'

'Ay,' said the sufferer, lifting his pale hand from the counterpane,