nce worked on springs which now were broken. But the greatest
abnormality was seen in his eyes. Startlingly large, startlingly
bright, they were sometimes beautiful and always uncanny.

This Freedham, with his slack gait and carriage, strolled towards a
railing and, resting both elbows on it, watched Doe at his cricket.
The whole picture is very clear on my mind. A sunny afternoon seemed
to have forgotten the time and only just made up its mind to merge
into a mellow evening: the boys, watching the game, were sending
their young and lively sounds upon the air; those of the smaller
cattle, whose interest had waned, were engaging with the worst taste
in noisy French cricket: the flannelled figures of the players, with
their wide little chests, neat waists, and round hips, promised fine
things for the manhood of England ten years on: at the wicket stood
the attractive figure of Edgar Doe in an occupation very congenial
to him--that of shining: and Chappy had just said: "I say, Radley,
don't you think this generation of boys is the most shapely lot
England has turned out? I wonder what use she'll make of them," when
he saw Freedham's entry and opened a new conversation.

"That's old Freedham's boy over there, isn't it?" he asked.
"Shocking specimen."

"Yes, he's a day-boy. You know his father, the doctor?"

"Doctor be damned!" answered Chappy. "He's no more a doctor than a
Quaker's a Christian. Old Freedham's surgery is a bally schism-shop.
He's one of those homoeopathic Johnnies, and would be blackballed on
societies of which I'm a vice-president. You know--just as I can
never go into dissenting chapels without feeling certain of the
presence of evil spirits--my wife says it's the stuffiness of the
atmosphere, but I say: 'No, my dear, it's evil spirits; I know
what's evil spirits and what's bad air'--well, just so I could never
go into old Freedham's--but I'm not likely to be asked.
Doctor--bah!"

And Chappy flung away the moist and masticated end of his cigar and
all such nonsensical ideas with it. Then he took a new cigar from
his case, proceeding:

"And the man's not only a nonconformist in the Medicine Creed, but
he's actually a deacon in a Presbyterian chapel--or something
equally heathen--and a fluent one at that, I expect. I make a point
of never trusting those people. Look at his sickening son and heir
yonder. Did you ever see an orthodox doctor produce a cockchafer
like that? That's homoeopathy, that is--"