Mr. Kerchey took them by surprise. He made some strikingly original and sensible remarks, without any of his ordinary hesitation. At the table he expressed some sentiments with regard to children which were quite refreshing, and his description of the storm on the previous day was rather picturesque.
But no shrewd observer, like Sarah, could fail to see that his language was studied and elaborate.
"He has got a little handful of speeches by heart," she whispered to Chester. "He will use them all up soon,—then we'll see if he can talk!"
She was confirmed in her suspicions when, questioning some ideas he advanced, she found him utterly unable to answer her in the same easy strain as before. To excuse himself, he, with great difficulty, confessed that those thoughts had been forming themselves in his mind, and that he would have to consider her argument before making a definite reply.
"My—ah—words—you see—they are very slow," he observed. "I—frequently have to—ah—note down what I—intend to—express—on particular times—or occasions."
"Words are the husk, and thoughts are the corn, of our conversation," said Father Brighthopes, with an encouraging smile. "Too many persons bring only the husks, which they heap upon us in rather uncomfortable abundance."
"Yes, sir;—very—ah—true," returned Mr. Kerchey, gratefully. "I think I have—ah——"
Here he broke down, appearing utterly incapable of finding the words he wanted.
"You have considerably more of the corn than the husk," rejoined the old man; "an excellent and quite excusable fault."
"I think, if there is anything disagreeable, it is an everlasting talker," remarked Sarah, her bright eyes sparkling with fun.