“Ah, I see,” said Father Dean, although he didn’t.  “But what is this, Judge Sweeney, respecting your introduction of MCLAUGHLIN to Mr. Bumstead, which I have heard about?”

“Why, your Reverence, I consider John MCLAUGHLIN a Character,” responds the Judge, “and thought our young friend of the organ-loft might like to study him.”

“The truth is,” explains Mr. Bumstead, “that Judge Sweeney put into my head to do a few pauper graves with John MCLAUGHLIN, some moonlight night, for the mere oddity and dampness of the thing.—­And I should regret to believe,” added Mr. Bumstead, raising his voice as saw that the judiciary was about to interrupt—­“And I should really be loathe to believe that Judge Sweeney was not perfectly sober when he did so.”

“Oh, yes—­certainly—­I remember—­to be sure,” exclaims the Judge, in great haste; alarmed into speedy assent by the construction which he perceives would be put upon a denial.  “I remember it very distinctly.  I remember putting it into your head—­by the tumblerful, if I remember rightly.”

“Profiting by your advice,” continues Mr. Bumstead, oblivious to the last sentence, I am going out to-night, in search of the moist and picturesque, with John MCLAUGHLIN—­”

“Who is here,” says Father Dean.

Old MORTARITY, dinner-kettle in hand and more mortary than ever, indeed seen approaching them with shuffling gait.  Bowing to the Holy Father, he is about to pass on, when Judge Sweeney stops him with—­

“You must be very careful with your friend, Bumstead, this evening, John MCLAUGHLIN, and see that he don’t fall and break his neck.”

“Never you worry about Mr. Bumstead, Judge,” growls old MORTARITY.  “He can walk further off the perpendicklar without tumbling than any gentleman I ever see.”

“Of course I can, John MCLAUGHLIN,” says Mr. Bumstead, checking another unseemly laugh of Mr. SMYTHE’S with a dreadful frown.  “I often practice walking sideways, for the purpose of developing the muscles on that side.  The left side is always the weaker, and the hip a trifle lower, if one does not counteract the difference by walking sideways occasionally.”

A great deal of unnecessary coughing, which follows this physiological exposition, causes Mr. Bumstead to breathe hard at them all for a moment, and tread with great malignity upon Mr. SMYTHE’S nearest corn.

While yet the sexton is groaning, old MORTARITY whispers to the Ritualistic organist that he will be ready for him at the appointed hour to-night, and shuffles away.  After which Mr. Bumstead, with the I hollow straw sticking out fiercely from his ear, privately offers to see Father Dean home if he feels at all dizzy; and, being courteously refused, retires down the turnpike toward his own lodgings with military precision of step.