"We'll catch them just before their tea," she said happily.

There is an unfortunate tendency on the part of our Press and stage
to caricature our curates; this tendency I would willingly avoid. It
should be easy enough to do, as I am writing about Polchester, a
town that simply abounds--and also abounded thirty years ago--in
curates of the most splendid and manly type. But, unfortunately, Mr.
Jellybrand was not one of these. I, myself, remember him very well,
and can see him now flinging his thin, black, and--as it seemed to
me then--gigantic figure up Orange Street, his coat flapping behind
him, his enormous boots flapping in front of him, and his huge hands
flapping on each side of him like a huge gesticulating crow.

He had, the Polchester people who liked him said, "a rich voice."
The others who did not like him called him "an affected ass." He ran
up and down the scale like this:
______________________________________________________________
Mrs.
______________________________________________________________
dear
_____________________________________________________________
My
______________________________________________________________
Cole.
______________________________________________________________

and his blue cheeks looked colder than any iceberg. But then I must
confess that I am prejudiced. I did not like him; no children did.

The Cole children hated him. Jeremy because he had damp hands, Helen