Archdeacon was in the least likely to converse.
Only once did he meet with verbal criticism that was anything but kindly. It happened in a railway carriage in which he was going to Birmingham to preside at a meeting of the Anti-Gambling League. Opposite him sat a middle-aged, bearded person. Presently this person opened a handbag and produced a copy of "Trixie" which he began to read through a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles. Not shell-rimmed. Steel-rimmed. He was not, I mean, quite a very gentlemanly person.
The Archdeacon fought against temptation for the best part of three and a half minutes. Then he leaned forward, coughed and said: "Forgive me, sir, but I see that you are reading 'Trixie,' and are half-way through it. May I ask you your opinion of it?"
