"Yes, sir, rammed down our throats, an insult to Pater Noster. Any man guilty of taking part in that was to be drowned until he apologized to the troop."
"By jove," said the padre. "The next service shall be free. But will they sing?"
"Turn loose the national anthem," said I. "Any man shying at that is a traitor. Cover your lectern with the Union Jack, and the boys will stand to attention. Leave your sermon behind."
"Why!"
"Because each of us has lived more, sir, in twenty years, than you will in sixty. You can't teach until you've lived."
"You forget," he said huffily, "that I bear a message."
"A sword, Padre, in the hands of a fool."
He stepped back, tripped and sat down with a bang, very thoughtful.
Presently he tamed himself and, thinking of my words, "Pater Noster," asked if I were a Roman Catholic. His tone was full of bitter prejudice.
"Outdoor men," said I in my cock-surest manner, "don't join indoor denominations."