This Freedham, with his slack gait and carriage, strolled towards a railing and, resting both elbows on it, watched Doe at his cricket. The whole picture is very clear on my mind. A sunny afternoon seemed to have forgotten the time and only just made up its mind to merge into a mellow evening: the boys, watching the game, were sending their young and lively sounds upon the air; those of the smaller cattle, whose interest had waned, were engaging with the worst taste in noisy French cricket: the flannelled figures of the players, with their wide little chests, neat waists, and round hips, promised fine things for the manhood of England ten years on: at the wicket stood the attractive figure of Edgar Doe in an occupation very congenial to him--that of shining: and Chappy had just said: "I say, Radley, don't you think this generation of boys is the most shapely lot England has turned out? I wonder what use she'll make of them," when he saw Freedham's entry and opened a new conversation. "That's old Freedham's boy over there, isn't it?" he asked. "Shocking specimen." "Yes, he's a day-boy. You know his father, the doctor?" "Doctor be damned!" answered Chappy. "He's no more a doctor than a Quaker's a Christian. Old Freedham's surgery is a bally schism-shop. He's one of those homoeopathic Johnnies, and would be blackballed on societies of which I'm a vice-president. You know--just as I can never go into dissenting chapels without feeling certain of the presence of evil spirits--my wife says it's the stuffiness of the atmosphere, but I say: 'No, my dear, it's evil spirits; I know what's evil spirits and what's bad air'--well, just so I could never go into old Freedham's--but I'm not likely to be asked. Doctor--bah!" And Chappy flung away the moist and masticated end of his cigar and all such nonsensical ideas with it. Then he took a new cigar from his case, proceeding: "And the man's not only a nonconformist in the Medicine Creed, but he's actually a deacon in a Presbyterian chapel--or something equally heathen--and a fluent one at that, I expect. I make a point of never trusting those people. Look at his sickening son and heir yonder. Did you ever see an orthodox doctor produce a cockchafer like that? That's homoeopathy, that is--" And Chappy flourished his new cigar towards Freedham.