I tried it on, and the effect was so awful that I took it off again. Whereas my arms stuck two inches out of the sleeves, and the coat threatened to burst across the shoulders, still Serpos's taller build made the tail of the thing come down to my calves: the whole giving a pleasing effect with a blue-serge suit and a rather loud tie. To walk through an English train in that garb, when at the next stop they would be looking for a fugitive, would be to ask for capture. There was only one refuge, since nobody expects parsons to be models of sartorial elegance…
Five minutes later (at precisely eleven-thirty, twelve hours before the wedding) I walked out of that lavatory in full clerical costume, including the collar. The ensemble, while tight and rickety, should pass muster; and I endeavoured to adjust my face to it. In one hand I had the valise containing relics of a departed policeman, and in the other hand a volume of sermons. I walked as pontifically as possible, though with a simmering temper. The train was a long one; and being a boat-train, pretty well filled. The passengers appeared to be mostly Americans or Canadians: there were jollifications in progress in several of the compartments. I passed through the corridors of three coaches, peering into each compartment in search of Evelyn; and I must have looked so ecclesiastical that one girl hastily got up off some young fellow's lap, and another swallowed whisky the wrong way. It was at the beginning of the fourth coach that I found Evelyn. She was sitting in an outside corner seat, and her eyes looked as though she were on the verge of tears; a circumstance so remarkable that I hastened to pull open the door. Across from her sat Mr. Johnson Stone. Stone saw my costume, and his jaw dropped. He took the cigar out of his mouth.
"Jesus-Christ!" he said.
This was too much.
"Look here," I said, and got my breath, ‘I ask you, for the last time, will you for God's sake give up that blasted joke about disg "
"Ss-st!" warned Evelyn, and her eyes moved in the direction of the corner seat towards the corridor. I glanced down, and found myself looking into the frosty gaze of a genuine Anglican clergyman.
He did not seem (from casual inspection, at least) to be the dominie for your money. He was on the long and thin side, but he had a large, pale, sideways-turned face like a watch-dog, and grizzled hair brushed in thin strands across his skull, and half-glasses over which he was peering up. His legs were crossed, and one of them was pressed back against the seat in order to let me pass by, which made him look as though he were doing contortion-exercises. He did not say anything. But he had The Times, and he rustled it. He continued to peer up.
On the spur of the moment the only thing I could think of to say was, "Pax vobiscum"; and, as that had a somewhat pedantic sound, I did not venture to say it. There was one of those heavy silences which can exist at their worst in railway carriages, when people want to speak to each other but are restrained by the presence of strangers. It was broken only by the clacking of the wheels and the rustle of a cool breeze through the half-open window. In the midst of it I moved decorously past to sit down beside Evelyn.
The wench was looking a trifle stuffed-up with unseemly mirth, but I must admit she played her part well. Her hazel eyes were rapt. Evelyn's. skin glows with that brownish-gold flesh-tint which is so seldom seen in real flesh, and on occasion she can assume a more innocent look than anything off an Easter-card. She spoke in that bright, eager, gushing tone which animates many women on the approach of the clergy.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're here," she cried. "I was so afraid we'd missed you! We saw you get on the train, of course, but I've been searching all over for you, and I simply couldn't find. Oh, excuse me. Mr. Stone, this is the Rev. Mr. She stopped, in beautiful confusion and perplexity. "Oh, I say, how awfully stupid of me! The Rev. Mr.-T'