who had, in fact, helped him more than once to milk Retallack's Alderney. He felt in his pocket and dropped a sovereign into the plate. The sidesman halted and rubbed his chin.
"Han't you made a mistake?" he asked in a stage whisper.
The Emigrant waved his hand in rather a lordly manner, and William Smithers, sidesman, proceeded down the aisle, wondering, but not suspecting.
The Vicar recited the prayer for the whole state of Christ's Church militant here on earth, and the Emigrant joined the crowd trooping out by the western door.
But in the press just outside the door two hands suddenly seized his right hand and shook it violently. He turned and faced—Dicky Loony.
"Me know, eh? Pete—Mas'r Pete!" The idiot bent over his hand and mumbled it with his wry mouth, then shook it again, peering up in his face. "Eh? Pete—Pete. Yes. All right!"
The Emigrant looked down on this poor creature at whom he had flung scores of stones, but never a kind word. And the idiot ran on:—
"Dicky, eh?"—tapping his chest. "You know—Dicky. Pete—Pete, eh?"—and he made the gesture of one flinging a stone. "Often, ha, ha! So high." He spread his hand, palm downward, about five feet from the ground.
"Well I'm blest!" said the Emigrant softly.
