should never be reached. Possibly this was perceptible in his manner.
Worby hastened to reassure him, ‘Not but what I could carry on about that topic for hours at a time, and do when I see my opportunity. But Dean Burscough he was very set on the Gothic period, and nothing would serve him but everything must be made agreeable to that. And one morning after service he appointed for my father to meet him in the choir, and he came back after he’d taken off his robes in the vestry, and he’d got a roll of paper with him, and the verger that was then brought in a table, and they begun spreading it out on the table with prayer books to keep it down, and my father helped ’em, and he saw it was a picture of the inside of a choir in a Cathedral; and the Dean—he was a quick spoken gentleman—he says, “Well, Worby, what do you think of that?” “Why”, says my father, “I don’t think I ‘ave the pleasure of knowing that view. Would that be Hereford Cathedral, Mr. Dean?” “No, Worby,” says the Dean, “that’s Southminster Cathedral as we hope to see it before many years.” “In-deed, sir,” says my father, and that was all he did say—leastways to the Dean—but he used to tell me he felt really faint in
