A. Conan Doyle
5
get copy for the weekly edition of the Gazette.
"It's not till eight, Ted. We have lots of time."
"Sit down, sir! Sit down!" boomed Challenger, tugging at his beard, as was his habit if his temper was rising. "There is nothing annoys me more than having anyone standing behind me. A relic of atavism and the fear of a dagger, but still persistent.
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Challenger snorted like an angry buffalo. "You don't mean to tell me, Malone, that these ghost people have got churches of their own?"
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That's right. For Heaven’s sake put your hat down! You have a perpetual air of catching a train.”
"That’s the journalistic life,” said Malone. “If we don’t catch the perpetual train we get left. Even Enid is beginning to understand that. But still, as you say, there is tine enough.”
“How far have you got ?" asked Challenger.
Enid consulted a business-like little reporter’s notebook.
"We have done six. There was Westminster Abbey for the Church in its most picturesque form, and Saint Agatha for the High Church, and Tudor Place for the Low. Then there was the Westminster Cathedral for Catholics, Endell Street for Presbeterians, and Gloucester Square for Unitarians. But to-night we are trying to introduce some variety. We are doing the Spiritualists.”