He had sung a late mass--which never agreed with him--and in his extreme hunger he had eaten two platefuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and drunk a glass and a half of solid beer.

And he had just fallen into a deep sleep before giving Catechism, when the footsteps and voices had awakened him.
Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this road paid him a call, and he had not yet met with one genuine case of want.

When he had first come here he had helped beggars freely and generously, and he lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, out of which he paid his housekeeper fifteen.
"What do you want ?" he said.
"May I speak to you, father ?" said Frank.
"Certainly.

Say what you've got to say." "Will you help me with sixpence, father ?" The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely.
"Are you a Catholic ?" "Yes, father." "I didn't see you at mass this morning." "I wasn't here this morning.

I was walking on the roads." "Where did you hear mass ?" "I didn't hear it at all, father.