The Rev. Mr. Maltby, pastor of the Congregational Church, happened to be passing the town hall
"My dear man," said he to Mr. Crow, "this cannot be true."
"Does seem a little high-handed, don't it?" said Anderson guiltily.
"Can it be possible that the President has issued such a revolutionary—"
"Listen a minute, Mr. Maltby," said the marshal, taking him by the arm and furtively glancing over his own shoulder. "It ain't true—not a derned word of it. Now, wait a minute. Don't fly off the—Mornin', Father Maloney, mornin' to you."
The sunny-faced Catholic priest had joined them. He adjusted his spectacles and peered at the notice.
"Well, well, bless my soul!" he exclaimed, staring blankly at the Congregationalist. "What's all this I see?"
"Come inside," said Anderson hastily. "Alf, if you happen to see Mr. Downs, the Methodist preacher, and Justice Robb, bring 'em here right away, will you?"
"Shall I go ahead and paste any more of these, Anderson?" inquired the compositor, shifting his quid.