A little party of Brethren carried Meilby in similar fashion to the door. Serve him right, the sneak, always behindhand with his tithes....
The hall was filled with shouts and oaths, cries, and the barking of a dog.
The Histrionics gathered open mouthed about the doorway. It was their dress-rehearsal night for the coming performance of The Lovers’ Secret.
VI
Meilby was in difficulties with his dress—his braces had given way—and Egholm was sucking an abrasion on the back of his hand. Nevertheless, each felt a sense of relief, as they walked briskly over the cobblestones, talking loudly and emphatically.
“If the Lord had sent a rain of fire upon their heads ... I was looking for it all the time. I can’t understand that He didn’t. Can you, now?”
Meilby answered, with a self-satisfied smile:
“Wasn’t wanted, that’s about it. He sent me instead.”
“Yes; that’s true. Thanks, Meilby—thanks for your help,” said Egholm, pressing the other’s arm. “But what was it all about, really? I was so excited at the time.... I mean, what was behind it all?”