As for Hugh John, he declared that for a man who could row in a college boat, and who worshipped an old blue coat hung up in a glass case, Mr. Burnham said more drivelling things than any man alive or dead.
And Toady Lion said nothing. He was only wondering all through the service whether he could catch a fly without his father seeing him.—He found that he could not. After this failure he remembered that he had a brandy ball only half sucked in his left trousers' pocket. He got it out with some difficulty. It had stuck fast to the seams, and finally came away somewhat mixed up with twine, sealing wax, and a little bit of pitch wrapped in leather. But as soon as he got down to it the brandy ball proved itself thoroughly satisfactory, and the various flavours developed in the process of sucking kept Toady Lion awake till the blessed "Amen" released the black-coated throng.
Toady Lion's gratitude was almost an entire thanksgiving service of itself.
As he came out through the crowded porch, he put his hand into his father's, and with a portentous yawn piped out in his shrillest voice, "Oh, I is so tired."
The smile which ran round the late worshippers showed that Toady Lion had voiced the sentiments of many of Mr. Burnham's congregation.
At this moment Mr. Burnham himself came out of the vestry just in time to hear the boy's frank expression of opinion.
"Never mind, Toady Lion," he said genially, "the truth is, I was a little tired myself to-day. I promise not to keep you quite so long next Sunday morning. You must remind me if I transgress. Nobody will, if you don't, Toady Lion."
"Doan know what 'twansguess' is—but shall call out loud if you goes on too long—telling out sermons and textises and fings."
As they walked along the High Street of Edam, Prissy glanced reverently at the Provost.