Codleyn had been obliged to foreclose, thus becoming the owner of some
seventy cottages. Mrs Codleyn, though they brought her in about twelve
pounds a week gross, esteemed these cottages an infliction, a bugbear,
an affront, and a positive source of loss. Invariably she talked as
though she would willingly present them to anybody who cared to accept--
"and glad to be rid of 'em!" Most owners of property talk thus. She
particularly hated paying the rates on them.

Now there had recently occurred, under the direction of the Borough
Surveyor, a revaluation of the whole town. This may not sound exciting;
yet a revaluation is the most exciting event (save a municipal ball
given by a titled mayor) that can happen in any town. If your house is
rated at forty pounds a year, and rates are seven shillings in the
pound, and the revaluation lifts you up to forty-five pounds, it means
thirty-five shillings a year right out of your pocket, which is the
interest on thirty-five pounds. And if the revaluation drops you to
thirty-five pounds, it means thirty-five shillings _in_ your
pocket, which is a box of Havanas or a fancy waistcoat. Is not this
exciting? And there are seven thousand houses in Bursley. Mrs Codleyn
hoped that her rateable value would be reduced. She based the hope
chiefly on the fact that she was a client of Mr Duncalf, the Town Clerk.
The Town Clerk was not the Borough Surveyor and had nothing to do with
the revaluation. Moreover, Mrs Codleyn persumably [Transcriber's note:
sic] entrusted him with her affairs because she considered him an honest
man, and an honest man could not honestly have sought to tickle the
Borough Surveyor out of the narrow path of rectitude in order to oblige
a client. Nevertheless, Mrs Codleyn thought that because she patronised
the Town Clerk her rates ought to be reduced! Such is human nature in
the provinces! So different from human nature in London, where nobody
ever dreams of offering even a match to a municipal official, lest the