outwitted, had no resource
but to sustain the beard-wagging old gentleman through
seventhly to the finish. There came a time when the dear
human Doctor also omitted to announce that Mr Finlay
would preach, but for other reasons. meanwhile, as Mrs
Forsyth said, he had no difficulty in conjuring a vacation
congregation for his young substitute. They came trooping,
old and young. Mr and Mrs Murchison would survey their
creditable family rank with a secret compunction,
remembering its invariable gaps at other times, and then
resolutely turn to the praise of God with the reflection
that one means to righteousness was as blessed as another.
They themselves never missed a Sunday, and as seldom
failed to remark on the way back that it was all very
interesting, but Mr Finlay couldn't drive it home like
the Doctor. There were times, sparse and special occasions,
when the Doctor himself made one of the congregation.
Then he would lean back luxuriously in the corner of his
own pew, his wiry little form half-lost in the upholstery
his arms folded, his knees crossed, his face all humorous
indulgence; yes, humorous. At the announcement of the
text a twinkle would lodge in the shrewd grey eyes and
a smile but half-suppressed would settle about the corners
of the flexible mouth: he knew what the young fellow
there would be at.
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