“No. Really. War time, you know.”
“I should value your opinion. Just half a glass.”
“Well, half a glass. To return to John Smith. Excellent brandy. My girl, Edith, presented this fellow Smith with a white feather this morning. Of course he’s a poor half-begotten sort of creature, but as far as one can see there’s no reason why he shouldn’t be working at munitions instead of loafing about the common.”
“Exactly. Sure you won’t have a leetle more?”
“Quite. Well, if you please, he kissed the feather, stuck it in his buttonhole, and said, ‘And lo, the heavens were opened unto him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and lighting upon him.’”
The doctor shook a grave, gray head. “Sounds decidedly cracked, I must say. At any rate a most improper speech to make to a clergyman’s daughter.”
“I should think so! Outrageous blasphemy!”
“Do you suppose the chap meant to insult her?”
“If he didn’t, and it’s charitable to give him the benefit of the doubt, his behavior only admits of one other explanation.”
Dr. Joliffe sat, a picture of perplexity. To a severely literal mind the speech was meaningless. He had known for some time that the man claimed to see visions, that he was a poet and a dreamer; and the doctor had lately heard rumors, to which he had paid little attention, that the man was dabbling in Christian Science in neighboring villages; but this was the first time it had occurred to him that the fellow was insane. But now the doctor agreed with the vicar that such behavior strongly suggested that condition.