Altogether there were more kind things said of him in the three days during which he was taken for dead, than in thirty years of his life—which seemed a pity.
And after it all, at the close of the third day, Dr. McTeague feebly opened his eyes.
But when he opened them the world had already passed on, and left him behind.
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Ministrations of the Rev. Uttermust Dumfarthing
"Well, then, gentlemen, I think we have all agreed upon our man?"
Mr. Dick Overend looked around the table as he spoke at the managing trustees of St. Osoph's church. They were assembled in an upper committee room of the Mausoleum Club. Their official place of meeting was in a board room off the vestry of the church. But they had felt a draught in it, some four years ago, which had wafted them over to the club as their place of assembly. In the club there were no draughts.
Mr. Dick Overend sat at the head of the table, his brother George beside him, and Dr. Boomer at the foot. Beside them were Mr. Boulder, Mr. Skinyer (of Skinyer and Beatem) and the rest of the trustees.
"You are agreed, then, on the Reverend Uttermust Dumfarthing?"
"Quite agreed," murmured several trustees together.