was no good, a flat failure in his field, no tact.
Beg your pardon, Miss Fairbanks. What did you say?"

"Oh, never mind," said Helen. "Go on."

"He appealed for corroboration to his friend, the chap up at Park
Church, you know, that sleek, kid-gloved fellow."

"Burns?" asked Brown, innocently, delighted in the reporter's
description of Lloyd and desiring more of it.

"No. You know that orator chap, liquid eyes, mellifluous voice, and all
the rest of it."

"Oh, Lloyd."

"Yes. Well, he took a whirl and backed up Macfarren. Evidently didn't
think much of the Superintendent's choice. Remarked about his being a
Highlander, a man of visions and that sort of thing."

"What else did he say?" inquired Brown, who was in a particularly happy
mood.

"Oh, a lot of stuff, in his most lordly, patronizing tone. Macgregor
was a very good, earnest fellow, but he should judge him to be lacking
in tact or adaptability, fine sensibilities, and that sort of rot. But
never mind. Didn't he catch it! Oh, no. My Sally Ann! Boiling lard and
blue vitriol, and all in the chief's most sweet-scented lavender style,
though all the time I could see the danger lights burning through his
port-holes. I tell you I've had my diminished moments, but I don't
think I was ever reduced to such a shade as the Park Church chap when
the Superintendent was through with him. Serve him right, too."

"What did the Superintendent say?" continued Brown, delighted to find
somebody who would express his own sentiments with more force and
fulness than he could command.

"Say! Well, I wish I could tell you. 'Mr. Lloyd says he is a
Highlander. Yes, he is, thank God. So am I. He is a man of visions.
Yes, he has vision beyond the limits of his own congregation and of his
own native cross-roads, vision for what lies beyond the horizon, vision
for those men in the mountains who are going to the devil.' A
quotation, Miss Fairbanks, I assure you. 'These miners and lumbermen,
forgotten by all but their mothers, and God.' Say, it was great. If I
could reproduce it there would be a European trip in it. Then he turned
on Dr. Macfarren. It seems that Macgregor somehow had to quit some
place in the West on the plea that he was not adaptable, and that sort
of thing. 'Dr. Macfarren says he was a failure,' went on the old chief,
using at least five r's, 'Mr. Lloyd says he is not adaptable, he is
lacking in fine sensibilities. It is true God did not make him with
sleek hair'--wh