"Mhm," Mr. Rejzek said ponderously.
"The Free Thought Society is holding a service in Havliček Square to-day. Father Novaček is performing miracles in Tyl Square. There's sure to be a row between them, you'll see. Yesterday Novaček healed a man who had been lame from birth. Then they had a procession, and just think, the fellow who'd been lame gave a Jew an awful hiding. Broke three of his ribs or more. He was a Zionist, see."
"Mhm," remarked Mr. Rejzek, marking some items of news.
"There's certain to be a dust-up to-day, Rejzek," Keval expatiated. "The Progressives are holding a meeting in the Old Town Square. They've trotted out 'Away from Rome' again. And Father Novaček is organizing the Maccabeans; you know, a sort of Catholic armed guard. You wait, there will be a scrimmage. The Archbishop has forbidden Novaček to perform miracles, but his Reverence is like one possessed; he even goes and raises the dead."
"Mhm," said Mr. Rejzek, and went on marking copy.
"I had a letter from my mother," Cyril Keval confided in subdued tones. "At home in Moravia, you know, near Hustopec and thereabouts, they're simply raving mad with the Czechs—say they're heathen and heretics and idolaters and want to set up new gods, and all that stuff. They've shot a
