“To-night,” said Cosgrove, “in this Hall we shall rehearse the play of ‘Noah’s Flood.’ ”
“ ‘Noah’s Flood!’ ” came a gasp from most of us.
“Animal crackers,” mumbled Bob Cullen obscurely.
“What’s ‘Noah’s Flood?’ ” asked Pendleton. “I’ve never seen any book of that name—”
“It is inside a book of another name,” answered Cosgrove; “one you have never opened, I dare say. Here, at five o’clock, we shall have tea; is it not so? Then I shall unfold—”
“It’s an old mystery-play,” said Alberta. “Crofts, I’m surprised.”
“But won’t there be, er, costumes, and so forth?”
“For me, at least, no costume,” declared Cosgrove. “Man, made in the image of God, shall need no gaudery. I should scorn to deck and disguise myself to play my God.”
“You don’t mean that you’re to appear in the, er, in the—”
“In the altogether?” finished Eve Bartholomew in a thin quasi-hysterical tone. “Oh, Mr. Cosgrove—”