"Take him into the porch," she cried, "out of the road. He'll be run over here."
"No, not into the church!" came an authoritative voice. "I know the man. The church is a sacred edifice."
It was the Archdeacon. He bent his somewhat dandiacal figure elaborately, put his nose close to Ernie's lips, and sniffed deliberately.
"No, sir, it's not that," said the iron-monger shortly. "It's food he wants."
"Ah," said the Archdeacon, rising in gaitered majesty, his painful duty done. "I'm glad to heah it."
Mrs. Lewknor was trembling with fury.
Ernie, on his back in the mud, stirred and opened his eyes.
He saw wavering faces all about him.
"Guess I'm all right now," he said.
"Give him air!" ordered the Archdeacon magnificently. "Ayah, I say!" and he made a sweeping gesture with his arm to brush away the crowd who were not there.