That's the joke. _And_ his new top hat."
"Well, I won't have it. Milk, doctor? Miss Dobell and I agree that it's a
shame."
Miss Dobell, who was in appearance like one of those neat silk umbrellas
with the head of a parrot for a handle, and whose voice was like the
running brook both for melody and monotony, thus suddenly appealed to,
blushed, stammered, and finally admitted that the Archdeacon was, in her
opinion, a hero.
"That's not exactly the point, dear Mary," said Miss Stiles. "The point
is, surely, that an elephant straight from the desert ate our best
Archdeacon's best hat in the High Street. You must admit that that's a
laughable circumstance in this the sixtieth year of our good Queen's
reign. I, for one, intend to laugh."
"No, you don't, Ellen," and, to every one's surprise, Mrs. Combermere's
voice was serious. "I mean what I say. I'm not joking at all. Brandon may
have his faults, but this town and everything decent in it hangs by him.
Take him away and the place drops to pieces. I suppose you think you're
going to introduce your Ronders as up-to-date rivals.
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