The Past District Grand Officer, who was also a Battery-Sergeant-Major, waddled across, lifted the slight weight in his arms and bore it to the loft, where, the regular organist pumping, it played joyously as a soul caught up to Heaven by surprise.
When the visitors had been coaxed to supply the necessary officers, a ceremony was rehearsed. Brother Burges forbade the regular members to prompt. The visitors had to work entirely by themselves, but, on the Battery-Sergeant-Major taking a hand, he was ruled out as of too exalted rank. They floundered badly after that support was withdrawn.
The one-footed R.A.M.C. on my right chuckled.
“D’you like it?” said the Doctor to him.
“Do I? It’s Heaven to me, sittin’ in Lodge again, It’s all comin’ back now, watching their mistakes. I haven’t much religion, but all I had I learnt in Lodge.” Recognising me, he flushed a little as one does when one says a thing twice over in another’s hearing. “Yes, ’veiled in all’gory and illustrated in symbols’—the Fatherhood of God, an’ the Brotherhood of Man; an’ what more in Hell do you want? ... Look at ’em!” He broke off giggling. “See! See! They’ve tied the whole thing into knots. I could ha’ done it better myself—my one foot in France. Yes, I should think they ought to do it again!”
The new organist covered the little confusion that had arisen with what sounded like the wings of angels.
When the amateurs, rather red and hot, had finished, they demanded an exhibition-working of their bungled ceremony by Regular Brethren of the Lodge. Then I realised for the first time what word-and-gesture-perfect Ritual can be brought to mean. We all applauded, the one-footed Corporal most of all.
“We are rather proud of our working, and this is an audience worth playing up to,” the Doctor said.
Next the Master delivered a little lecture on the meanings of some pictured symbols and diagrams. His theme was a well-worn one, but his deep holding voice made it fresh.
“Marvellous how these old copybook-headings persist,” the Doctor said.