Brother Copas | Page 8

I should add that Ibbetson, who was kneeling next to him and must have overheard, walked back from the altar-rail straight out of chapel; but his wife assures me that this was purely a coincidence, and due to a sudden weakness of the stomach."
"You have spoken to Warboise?"
"Yes, and he is defiant. Says that bread is bread, and--when I pressed him for a definition--asked (insolently again) if the Trustees had authorised our substituting biscuit for bread in the Wayfarers' Dole. Advised us to 'try it on' there, and look out for letters in the Merchester Observer. He even threatened--if you'll believe me--to write to the Press himself. In short, he was beyond all self-control."
"I was afraid," murmured the Master, flushing a little in his distress, "you would not introduce this--er--primitive use--or, I should say, restore it--without trouble. Brother Warboise has strong Protestant prejudices; passionate, even."
"And ignorant."
"Oh, of course, of course! Still--"
"I suggest that, living as he does on the Church's benefaction, eating the bread of her charity--"
The Chaplain paused, casting about for a third phrase to express Brother Warboise's poor dependence.
The Master smiled whimsically.
"'The bread'--that's just it, he would tell you . . . And Alberic de Blanchminster, moreover, was a layman, not even in any of the minor orders; so that, strictly speaking--"
"But he left his wealth expressly to be administered by the Church. . . . Will you forgive me, Master, if I repeat very respectfully the suggestion I made at the beginning? If you could see your way to be celebrant at the early office, your mere presence would silence these mutineers. The Brethren respect your authority without question, and, the ice once broken, they would come to heel as one man."
The Master shook his head tremulously, in too much of a flurry even to note the Chaplain's derangement of metaphors.
"You cannot guess how early rising upsets me. Doctor Ainsley, indeed, positively forbids it. . . . I can sympathise, you see, with Ibbetson . . . and, for Brother Warboise, let us always remember that St. Hospital was not made, and cannot be altered, in a day--even for the better. Like England, it has been built by accretions, by traditions; yes, and by traditions that apparently conflict--by that of Brother Ingman, among others. . . .
"We who love St. Hospital," continued the Master, still tremulously, "have, I doubt not, each his different sense of the genius loci. Warboise finds it, we'll say, in the person of Peter Ingman, Protestant and martyr. But I don't defend his behaviour. I will send for him to-morrow, and talk to him. I will talk to him very severely."
CHAPTER III.
BROTHER COPAS HOOKS A FISH.
"Well," said Brother Copas, "since the fish are not rising, let us talk. Or rather, you can tell me all about it while I practise casting. . . . By what boat is she coming?"
"By the Carnatic, and due some time to-morrow. I saw it in the newspaper."
"Well?--" prompted Brother Copas, glancing back over his shoulder as Brother Bonaday came to a halt.
The bent little man seemed to have lost the thread of his speech as he stood letting his gentle, tired eyes follow the flight of the swallows swooping and circling low along the river and over the meadow-grasses.
"Well?--" prompted Brother Copas again.
"Nurse Branscome will go down to meet her."
"And then?--"
"I am hoping the Master will let her have my spare room," said Brother Bonaday vaguely.
Here it should be explained that when the Trustees erected a new house for the Master his old lodgings in the quadrangle had been carved into sets of chambers for half a dozen additional Brethren, and that one of these, differing only from the rest in that it contained a small spare room, had chanced to be allotted to Brother Bonaday. He had not applied for it, and it had grieved him to find his promotion resented by certain of the Brethren, who let slip few occasions for envy. For the spare room had been quite useless to him until now. Now he began to think it might be, after all, a special gift of Providence.
"You have spoken to the Master?" asked Brother Copas.
"No: that is to say, not yet."
"What if he refuses?"
"It will be very awkward. I shall hardly know what to do. . . . Find her some lodging in the town, perhaps; there seems no other way."
"You should have applied to the Master at once."
Brother Bonaday considered this, while his eyes wandered.
"But why?" he asked. "The boat had sailed before the letter reached me. She was already on her way. Yes or no, it could make no difference."
"It makes this difference: suppose that the Master refuses, you have lost four days in which you might have found her a suitable lodging. What's the child's name, by the by?
"Corona, it