On the street side one window of the Custom House raked the Mayor's porch; in the rear another and smaller window overlooked his garden, and this might have been a nuisance had the Collector of Customs, Mr.Pennefather, been a less considerate neighbour.

But no one minded Mr.Pennefather, a little, round, self-depreciating official who, before coming to Troy, had served as clerk in the Custom House at Penzance, and so, as you might say, had learnt his business in a capital school: for the good feeling between the Customs officials and the free-traders of Mount's Bay, and the etiquette observed in their encounters, were a by-word throughout the Duchy.
The Major, glancing up as he sipped his Madeira and catching sight of Mr.Pennefather at his window, nodded affably.
"Ah! Good evening, Mr.Collector!" "Good evening, Major! You'll excuse my seeming rudeness in overlooking you.

To tell the truth, I had just closed my books, and the sight of your tulips--" "A fair show this year--eh ?" The Major took pride in his tulips.
"Magnificent! I was wondering how you will manage when the bulbs deteriorate; for, of course, there's no renewing them from Holland, nor any prospect of it while this war lasts." The Major sipped his wine.

"Between ourselves, Mr.Collector, I have heard that forbidden goods find their way into this country somehow.
Eh ?" The Collector laughed.

"But the price, Major?
That is where it hits us, even in the matter of tulips.