The display of feeling that greeted this solution of the problem was remarkable. The fat barrister was hailed as a legal genius.
“Well,” said Archie, screwing his features into a defiant solemnity, “if the Old Man’ll swear by her beard that she conscientiously believes that cucumbers really can’t see, we’ll insert a special clause into the rules to provide for the cucumber frame.”
“But I can’t, you know, Archie,” said Miss Grace, “’cause I’ve got no beard. But I do believe that cucumbers can’t see all the same though.”
“This is serious,” said the unrelenting Archie. “The Old Man without his beard is worse than Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark.”
“You’ll have to swear on something, Willy, that’s a cert.,” said Charlie, “else we shan’t believe you.”
“Somebody fetch a Bible,” said Carteret. “Now then, Toddles, you idle little beast, why don’t you go and fetch one of your collection.”
“Let her kiss my hat,” said the little curate, suddenly sitting upright on the grass, with a look of utter holiness that would have made his vicar glad. “As I’m a parson, it’ll be quite the truest administration of an oath that’s possible. Every parson carries the whole contents of the Scriptures in the lining, all hallowed by his intellect as well. You know it, brethren, don’t you? Besides, it’ll save me the fag of going to the house. Yes, by all means, let her kiss my hat.”
At this suggestion, the solemnity that seized us all was really marvellous. We had gravity enough to equip a class for confirmation.
“Jimmy, here’s my hat!” said Toddles. “Isn’t it a blessing that you’re a commissioner for oaths—horrid awful ones they are, you fat blasphemer!”—this in an eloquent aside.
“Here, Grace, is his hat,” said Carteret.