Protesting under his breath that this was no time for Sunday-School exercises, Buddy interrupted the composition of a Social Jotting, and set about the errand. When he returned there was a pleased expression upon his face. He presented his chief with a slip of paper thus inscribed:
“Since thou art laid down, no feller is come up against us.”
“What’s this, Buddy?” demanded the chief sternly. “I said the Bible.”
“That’s where I got it,” returned the appreciative Buddy. “Some of those old guys could sure sling the up-to-date stuff.”
“Bring me the Old Testament.” Jeremy looked up the text and, to his surprise, verified the exact words. But when he saw the context he laughed. And that evening he made one of his rare calls.
“Isaiah is no prophet so far as The Guardian is concerned,” he declared to Miss Pritchard. “And the style of that sting rings familiar. Where did you get it?”
“It was written on the margin of an old Guardian.”
Jeremy raised questioning eyes to her face. Miss Pritchard nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “She was back in Berne when that was sent.”
“All right?” Jeremy was conscious that his voice was less insouciant than he could have wished.