The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-12-09

forward, gathered up the reverend gen
tleman's garments under his arms, leav
ing only his towel and his boots, de
posted the clothes under a hedge abou
a hundred yards off. and returned to hi
post for observation.
The church clock chimed half-past 8
the vicar in the water heard it and struck
for the bank. His amazement and hor
ror may be imagined when he saw tina
his clothes mad disappeared, and tina
nothing Int the towel and the boots re
NAMED. For a moment he stood as if
thunderstruck. Then he rushed about
in ali directions in a state Of most unec
clesiastical excitement and searched the
bushes, pccred under hedges, looked uI
into trees, all the time hurting a com
plete continuation service on the heads
of the unpriucipled scoundrels who had
made away with his wardrobe. A quar-
ter to 10 struck. The church, the dis
tracted vicar thought, would be now fill
ing; the carriages of the country gentry
would be dashing through the village
street; his right revcrence.t the lord bishop
of Virginia Water would have arrived,
and here was he, the most important
man in the place after the squire, SILVER
ing on the banks of a river in a towel
and a pair of boots!
The position was a terrible one. But
no shipwrcckcd mariner ever deserted
sail, no desert traveller eve saw water,
with more genuine joy than did the
vicar hear the sounds of approaching
footsteps. Quickly he sprang back into
the stream, and waited to see who wa
coming. Tie steps were those OF somes
one evidently not pressed for time, and
who, from the nature of the song he was
caroling, had certainly no intention of
attending the ceremony at the village
church, but they were the footsteps of a
man, and at that moment the vicar felt
that he could have hailed the presence OF
the most irrcclaimable member of his par
the with delight.
The seconds which elapsed between
his first hearing the footsteps and the
appearance of the figure seemed to the
vicar like hours, but at length MIR.
Gerald Maldon emerged from the shrub
berry with a pipe in his fingers and a bal
lad on his tongue commemorating the
duplicity of a certain duke OF Seven
Dials.
eli! Mr.. Maldon! Mr.. Maldon!"
shouted the vicar. The young man
short in the middle of the
chorus, looked up in the trees, away
over the fields, behind him, and
straight ahead of HMM fact, every
but in the right direction.
The vicar renewed his cries.
"tIi! Mr.. Maldon! Here! 1t is I, the
vicar, I'm in the river! Some thief'S
gone Of with all my clothes and I've to
be at the church at 10 to assist at the
confirmation! What on earth am l to
The young man gazed with admirably
establishment at the bald head
md the agonized red face of the half
vicar, and giving vent to a
prolonged whistle said:
"By Jovc, sir, if you've to be at the
church at 10 you'll have to hurry up, for
it only waits five minutes now. The
has already arrived, for he was
to the governor about a quarter
Of an hour back"
This was not strictly true, but it had
The desired effect of intensifying the
agony.
"But I say, Mr.. Maldon," said the
wretchcd vicar, "what am / to do2 l
time to get any fresh things
from the vicarage. I can't 60 to the
church rs I ammo, no, I don't mean
that. But really I don't believe that
my mar was ever in such a predicament
before. What can I do"
"Wcll," said Gerald, 'therc's only n
way out of the difficulty that I can sugg-
yest. My suit is not, perhaps, of a par
clerical cut and color, but it
wouldn't show much under a surplice,
md you could run over to the church n
It without anybody noticing you. Why
shouldn't you put it on?"
"But what are you to do?" gasped the
vicar.
ooh, it doesn't matter about me" re-
piled Gerald; "I'vc nothing to do, and
i've lots of tobacco and shall enjoy my
all right here"
"But how can I assist at a confirmation
in ain a kind of seaside shooting suit?
Still, I suppose there's nothing else to be
done" said the poor vicar, waddling out
Of the water, and drying himself as fast
1s he could. "I'm sure, Mir. Maldon,
I'm indebted to you-that am. But
don't you trouble, thanks-that's it; a
little long in the legs, pcrhaps,-oh!
thanks!-no; never mind the nccktle.
There, that will do, and now I'll make a
rush for it,"
So saying the vicar doubled across the
field as fast rs his unframed condition
allow him, leaving Gerald with
the towel and the boots, and exploding
with laughter at the ridiculous figure the
parson cut, ambling and stumbling
along in the much-maligned suit of dit.
toes.
The vicar arrived at the church just as
the clock was, striking 1890. To his
horror the first person to meet HIM was
the bishop, who fairly staggered at the
spectacle presented by the most precise
and pompous minister in his diocese.
"Extrcmely sorry, my lord" painted
the exhausted vicar. "Had an accident
-explain all afterward." The bishop
said nothing, but his looks spoke vol
umes, although, being a prclate of an
eminently humorous disposition, he. of
course saw that some contretemps had
What the poor vicar underwent dur
ing that interminable service nobody but
knows. The surplice he wore
was short. Gerald Maldon's trousers
were long. The sun streamed down
full nnnn him ns he stood within the