human
So much the better, boy, if you come up to Oxford to worship false gods.
gpt
Eight false gods in little blue caps, seated in a trough and tugging at eight poles: and all to discover if they can get from Putney to Mortlake sooner than eight other false gods in little blue caps of a lighter shade! What do they do at Mortlake when they get there in such a hurry? Eh, boy?
human
I—I'm sure I don't know,
gpt
Are you going to tell us your name?
human
Raymond, sir. My father used to be at Christ Church.
gpt
What? Are you Sam Raymond's son?
human
You knew my father?
gpt
A very little. I was his senior by a year or two. But I know something about him. He turned to the other.
human
Let me introduce the son of a man after your own heart—of a man fighting for God in the wilds, and building an altar there with his own hands and by the lamp of sacrifice.
gpt
But how do you know all this?
human
Oh, the old clergyman smiled,