CHAPTER VI.
GAUDY DAY.
In the sunshine, on a lower step of the stone stairway that leads up and through the shadow of a vaulted porch to the Hundred Men's Hall, or refectory, Brother Biscoe stood with a hand-bell and rang to dinner.

Brother Biscoe was a charming old man to look upon; very frail and venerable, with a somewhat weak face; and as senior pensioner of the hospital he enjoyed the privilege of ringing to dinner on Gaudy Days--twenty-seven strokes, distinct and separately counted--one for each brother on the two foundations.
The Brethren, however, loitered in groups before their doorways, along the west side of the quadrangle, awaiting a signal from the porter's lodge.

Brother Manby, there, had promised to warn them as soon as the Master emerged from his lodging with the other Trustees and a few distinguished guests--including the Bishop of Merchester, Visitor of St.Hospital--on their way to dine.

The procession would take at least three minutes coming through the outer court--ample time for the Brethren to scramble up the stairway, take their places, and assume the right air of reverent expectancy.
As a rule--Brother Copas, standing on the gravel below Brother Biscoe and counting the strokes for him, begged him to note it--they were none so dilatory.

But gossip held them.