Part 3 (1/2)

”There's an article in the _British Weekly_ on the evolution of the church service--” he began; but his impetuous friend was bent on setting Jock right in his own way, and hastened to his destruction.

”And on the same principle, the more Amen, the more objection, eh?” he cried laughingly. ”But now, look here, if you'll only consider this thing with a fair mind you can't help seeing that, as J. P. says, a hymn or a psalm sounds unfinished without an Amen at the end. Take any hymn for example--”

They had reached the McPherson gate by this time, where an arc light, high up in its leafy perch, was sputtering away shedding a white glow over the side-walk and embroidering it with an exquisite pattern worked out in leaf-shadows. Lawyer Ed paused under the lamp and opened the Book of Praise.

”I defy you to find one that isn't improved and finished and rounded off by an Amen at the end.” He selected a hymn at random, and sang a stanza in his rich voice that poured itself out gloriously on the evening air.

”_Faith and hope and love we see Joining hands in unity, But the greatest of the three And the best is love. Amen._”

The beautiful words, sung in Lawyer Ed's melodious voice, were enough to move even Jock's orthodox heart. He was silent for a moment, then the noise of a window being raised above their heads interrupted.

Mrs. McPherson was accustomed to after-session meetings, and noisy ones too, at her gate. But when they were accompanied by singing and shouting, at the disgraceful hour of eleven P. M. she felt it time to interfere. So she opened the window noisily and enquired if there was a fire anywhere.

There was. It blazed up in Lawyer Ed's heart, so enraged was he at this very inopportune interruption, coming just when he thought he saw Jock wavering. He shouted at her to go in and mind her own business.

No one in Algonquin heeded what Lawyer Ed said when he was angry, but Mr. McPherson was in no mood to put up with even him. He became deadly slow and deliberate. He turned his back on the turbulent young man, and addressed the open window:

”No, it will not be a fire, Mary,” he called. ”It's just an Eerishman got loose, and we'll haf to let him talk off his noise. He reminds me,” he continued, still addressing the window, though it had closed with a bang, ”he reminds me of that Chersey cow, my Cousin McNabb had in Islay. She wasn't much for giffin' milk, and it was vurry thin at that, but she was a great musician. You could hear her bawlin' across two concessions.”

J. P. Thornton was a jolly young Englishman, very p.r.o.ne to mirth, and this was too much for him. He turned traitor and laughed aloud.

Lawyer Ed glared angrily at him; but Jock's face underwent a peculiar twist. He had had no notion of saying anything witty, he had been too angry for that; but he had learned by experience that he never knew when he was going to make a joke. He was often surprised in the midst of a speech by a burst of laughter from his friends, Lawyer Ed generally first. Then he would pause and survey the path he had travelled, to find that all unconsciously he had stumbled upon a humorous vein. So when J. P. laughed he stopped to consider. The enemy flew to defend his ”bawlin'” and there was no time to see if he really had made a joke. But he was suspicious, and the suspicion put him into a good humour. A sudden inspiration seized him; he caught the book Lawyer Ed was brandis.h.i.+ng and, opening it, laid it carefully on the top of the gate-post.

”It's more feenished and rounded off, with the '_Aye_-men, is it?” he enquired with deep sarcasm. ”But you would not be feenis.h.i.+ng it after all. If ye're bound and deturmined to put a tail on the end o' the hime, why don't ye sing awl that's in the book. You would be leaving out a bit.”

He took his gla.s.ses from their case, fitted them on, and held the book carefully towards the electric light.

”If ye want it feenished, this is the way it should be sung.”

Now, not even Mrs. Jock, who believed her husband the cleverest man in Algonquin, could say he was a singer, and it was with a terribly discordant wail that he lifted his voice in the melancholy words of the hymn before him:

”_There are no pardons in the toomb, And brief is mercy's day.

A-m-e-n-T-h-o-m-a-s-H-a-s-t-i-n-g-s--_”

The awful ”Amen,” drawled out to an indefinite length, with the author's name, on the end, was irresistible. J. P. broke into a shout of laughter. For a moment, Lawyer Ed's eyes gleamed in the darkness, but only for a moment, then he too gave way, and when Lawyer Ed laughed, a really good hearty laugh, it was a musical performance that did not stop until every one within hearing was joining in the chorus.

And then Jock began to realise that he had been witty again. He paused and bethought himself of what he had done, and he too saw how funny it was. He did not laugh right out at first. Jock's mirth, like his wit, was too deliberate for that. He began by uttering a low subterranean sort of chuckle, which finally worked to the surface in a rhythmic shaking of his whole st.u.r.dy little body. By this time J. P. was leaning against a tree wiping his eyes, and everybody up and down the street was smiling and saying, ”That's Lawyer Ed's laugh. What's he up to now, I wonder?” Jock checked his mirth quickly; it was not seemly to rejoice too heartily over one's own humour, but before the joy of it had left, by an adroit turn, J. P. had sent the conversation into its proper channel.

”A good joke on you, Ed!” he cried. ”I must tell that to Angus McRae.

Angus doesn't love the 'Amen' too much either, Jock.”

”Angus is in great trouble,” exclaimed Lawyer Ed, wiping his eyes and trying to look serious. ”Did you hear about it, Jock?”

Jock had not heard, so the story of little Roderick's rainbow expedition and his father's consequent heart affection was quickly told. And when the splendid plan to help was adroitly unfolded, Jock was quick to respond. It was the psychological moment; Thomas Hastings had driven away all dourness and Angus McRae's case was safe.

The two friends walked homeward under the shadows of the maples, the night-air sweet with the perfume of many gardens. They were both very happy, so happy indeed, that, as usual, they walked miles before they finally settled for the night.