He threw his
arms about me, and pinned me against the pew in front; and as he is
one of the ten ranking golfers at the Western City Country Club, his
embrace carried authority. I struggled, but there I stayed,
shouting, "For shame! For shame!" and my uncle exclaiming, in a
stern whisper, "Shut up! Sit down, you fool!" and my Aunt Caroline
holding onto my coat-tails, crying, and my aunt Jennie threatening
to faint.
The melee came quickly to an end, for the men of the congregation
seized the half dozen disturbers and flung them outside, and mounted
guard to make sure they did not return. I sank back into my seat, my
worthy uncle holding my arm tightly with both hands, lest I should
try to make my escape over the laps of Aunt Caroline and Aunt
Jennie.
All this time the Reverend Lettuce-Spray had been standing in the
pulpit, making no sound. Now, as the congregation settled back into
order, he said, with the splendid, conscious self-possession of one
who can remain "equal to the occasion": "We will resume the
service.
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