But the affair was scarcely alluded to by the
Society papers--who were naturally shocked at the bad taste of the
deceased. And even Golly forgot it all--on the stage.
BOOK IV
Meanwhile John Gale, or Brother Boreas, as he was known in the
monastery, was submitting--among other rigors--to an exceptionally
severe winter in Bishopsgate Street, which seemed to have an Arctic
climate of its own,--possibly induced by the "freezing-out" process
of certain stock companies in its vicinity.
"You are miserable, and eager to get out in the wicked world again,
my son, said the delightful old Superior, as he sat by the only
fire, sipping a glass of mulled port, when John came in from
shoveling snow outside. "I, therefore, merely to try you, shall
make you gatekeeper. The keys of the monastery front door are
under the door-mat in my cell, but I am a sound sleeper." He
smiled seraphically, and winked casually as he sipped his port.
"We will call it, if you please--a penance."
John threw himself in an agony of remorse and shame at the feet of
the Superior. "It isn't of myself I'm thinking," he confessed
wildly, "but of that poor young man, Brother Bones, in the next
cell to mine. He is a living skeleton, has got only one lung and
an atrophied brain. A night out might do him good."
The Father Superior frowned. "Do you know who he is?"
"No.
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