Really, however, there was nothing of the religious devotee in the make-up of the little Cockney. It was only the artist in him which had been so profoundly stirred. He continued to be thrilled by the beauty of the music and the services, but, except for the Dean whom he was quite prepared to worship, he had not formed a very high opinion of the other clergy attached to the cathedral. He thought of the Bishop as an old codger who had always too much to say, the Archdeacon did not please him because his voice was harsh and unmelodious, and generally speaking, he did not much like the Canons, either major or minor. They were either too stout or too skinny, he thought, and he put down their appearance to either eating too much or not enough.
With the Dean himself he had very little to do. Of
