"Off his nut, evidently!" murmured one of the young men contemptuously.
"Come on, Stan. Don't let's miss that anthem, for this cuss." And off
they both went.

Then a youthful policeman appeared, putting on his helmet as he quitted
the fane.

"What's all this?" asked the policeman, in the assured tone of one who
had the forces of the Empire behind him.

"He's been making a disturbance in the horgan loft," said the cassock,
"and now he says his name's Priam Farll."

"Oh!" said the policeman. "Ho! And how did he get into the organ loft?"

"Don't arsk me," answered the cassock. "He ain't got no ticket."

"Now then, out of it!" said the policeman, taking zealously hold of
Priam.

"I'll thank you to leave me alone," said Priam, rebelling with all the
pride of his nature against this clutch of the law.

"Oh, you will, will you?" said the policeman. "We'll see about that. We
shall just see about that."

And the policeman dragged Priam along the cloister to the muffled music
of "He will swallow up death in victory." They had not thus proceeded
very far when they met another policeman, an older policeman.