"That's the way with Hayes.

He thinks he's the whole works, and that he never can get in wrong." The spell was broken, never to be renewed.

The story hurried to its close, but the great climax failed of its proper effect.
"He's a hummer, ain't he ?" exclaimed young Pickles to his friend, Pat McCann.
"Some hummer, and then some!" replied Pat.
"I'm goin' in," said Pickles.
"Aw, what for?
He ain't no good preachin' to them folks.

By gum! I think he's scared of 'em." But Pickles persisted, and followed with the men and boys who lounged lazily into the church, from which the Sunday School had now been dismissed.
It appeared that the judgment of Pat McCann upon the merits of the preacher would be echoed by the majority of the congregation present.
While the service was conducted in proper form and in reverent spirit, the sermon was marked by that most unpardonable sin of which sermons can be guilty; it was dull.

Solid enough in matter, thoughtful beyond the average, it was delivered in a style appallingly wooden, with an utter absence of that arresting, dramatic power that the preacher had shown in his children's class.
The appearance of the congregation was, as ever, a reflection of the sermon.