“I was compelled to,” said my father. “There was no other course. Either it must be removed, I told him, before to-morrow morning or I should publicly denounce it during morning service.”
“And what did he say?” I asked.
My father made a contemptuous gesture.
“Oh, you know what he is,” he replied, “a weed before the rind.”
“You mean a reed,” I said.
“What did I say?” said my father.
“You said a weed,” I said.
“I said a weed?” said my father.
“A weed before the wind,” I said. “I mean the rind.”
“The rind?” said my father. “But that’s wrong.”