I've had
many a blow; but yours was the solidest that ever jarred tny
mortal frame, Father Beret."
The twain began to laugh. There is nothing like a reminiscence to
stir up fresh mutual sympathy.
"If your intercostals were somewhat sore for a time, on account of
a contact with priestly knuckles, doubtless there soon set in a
corresponding uneasiness in the region of your conscience. Such
shocks are often vigorously alterative and tonic--eh, my son?"
"You jolted me sober, Father, and then I was ashamed of myself.
But where does all your tremendous strength lie? You don't look
strong."
While speaking Farnsworth leaned near Father Beret and grasped his
arm. The young man started, for his fingers, instead of closing
around a flabby, shrunken old man's limb, spread themselves upon a
huge, knotted mass of iron muscles. With a quick movement Father
Beret shook off Farnsworth's hand, and said:
"I am no Samson, my son. Non sum qualis eram." Then, as if
dismissing a light subject for a graver one, he sighed and added;
"I suppose there is nothing that can be done for little Alice."
He called the tall, strong girl "little Alice," and so she seemed
to him. He could not, without direct effort, think of her as a
magnificently maturing woman. She had always been his spoiled pet
child, perversely set against the Holy Church, but dear to him
nevertheless.
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