ous 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