Superior went away to address a series of drawing-room meetings in
London, and Brother George, with whom Brother Athanasius, almost alone
of the brethren, never hesitated to keep his end up, discovering that he
was as ready to stick up to horses and cows, did not pay attention to
the Father Superior's threat that, if Brother Athanasius could not keep
his tongue quiet, he must be sent away. Mark made friends with him, and
when he found that, in spite of all his blatancy and self-assertion,
Brother Athanasius could not keep the tears from his bright blue eyes
whenever he spoke of Shorncliffe, he was sorry for him and vexed with
himself for accepting the surrender of Sandgate priory so much as a
matter of course, because he had no personal experience of its work.

"But was Brother Dominic really good with the men?" Mark asked.

"Oh, Brother Dominic was all right. Don't you try and make me criticize
Brother Dominic. He bought the gloves and I did the fighting. Good man
of business was Brother D. I wish we could have some boxing here. Half
the brethren want punching about in my opinion. Old Brother Jerome's
face is squashed flat like a prize-fighter's, but I bet he's never had
the gloves on in his life. I'm fond of old Brother J. But, my word,
wouldn't I like to punch into him when he gives us that pea-soup more
than four times a week. Chronic, I call it. Well, if he doesn't give us
a jolly good blow out on my name-day next week I really will punch into
him. Old Brother Flatface, as I called him the other day. And he wasn't
half angry either. Didn't we have sport last second of May! I took a
party of them all round Hythe and Folkestone. No end of a spree!"

Mark was soon too much occupied with his duties as guestmaster to lament
with Brother Athanasius the end of the Sandgate priory. The Reverend
Father's drawing-room addresses were sending fresh visitors down every
week to see for themselves the size of the foundation that required
money, and more money, and more money still to keep it going. In the old
Chatsea days guests who visited the Mission House were expected to
provide entertainment for their hosts. It mattered not who they were,
millionaires or paupers, parsons or laymen, undergraduates or
board-school boys, they had to share the common table, face the common
teasing, and help the common task. Here at the Abbey, although the
guests had much more opportunity of intercourse with the brethren than
would have been pe