He rolled on the floor, and
contorted himself in convulsions of vexation; he 'bothered' the Dean,
he 'bothered' the Precentor, he 'bothered' the Organist, he
'bothered' Shapcote's sore throat, he 'bothered' Harewood's wool-
gathering wits, he 'bothered' his own voice, and thereby caused
Clement to rebuke him for foolish murmurs instead of joy in his gift.
'A fine gift to rejoice in, to make one be whipped off by an old
fogey, when one most wants to be at home! I thank my stars I can't
sing!' said Fulbert.
'I should thank mine if Bill Harewood had any sense,' said Lance,
sitting up in a heap on the floor. 'He can go quite high enough when
he pleases; only, unluckily, a goose of a jackdaw must needs get into
the cathedral just as Bill had got to sing the solo in "As pants the
hart;" and there he stood staring with his mouth wide open--and no
wonder, for it was sitting on the old stone-king's head! Wasn't Miles
in a rage; and didn't he vow he'd never trust a solo to Harewood
again if he knew it! Oh, I say, Wilmet--Fee, I know! Do let me bring
Bill back with me on Monday morning; and he could go by the six
o'clock train. Oh, jolly!'
'But is he really a nice boy, Lance?' asked Wilmet, doubtfully.
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