“Ach! You’re thinking of acolyte, you fool. You can’t pass me on ecclesiastical forms; I was once a sweet cherub of an altar boy and know all about such matters. No,” he sighed; “it’s no leanings toward priesthood I have; but something entirely worldly and fleshly and devilly.”
“How many does this make, Jawn?”
“How many?” he retorted. “I suppose you mean to imply that my devotion lacks in constancy?”
“Oh, you are constant enough!” Richard laughed. “You’re always completely gone on some girl—always.”
“It’s a terrible infirmity.”
“Did you bring your book with you?”
“Yes,” snapped Jawn.
“Well, what number is this one?”
“Seventy-seven. But you needn’t grin so sarcastic like; I’m feeling that this is the final number.”
“How so?”