niversities. So, when a slim parson touched Alban upon the arm and
begged for a word with him, he concluded immediately that he had
attracted the notice of one of these and become the objective of his
charity.

"I beg your pardon," he said a little stiffly. The idea of stooping to
such assistance had long been revolting to him. He was within an ace of
breaking away from the fellow altogether.

"Your name is Alban Kennedy, I think? Will you permit me to have a few
words with you?"

Alban looked the parson up and down, and the survey did something to
satisfy him. He found himself face to face with a man, it might be of
thirty years of age, whose complexion was dark but not unpleasant, whose
eyes were frank and open, the possessor, too, of fair brown hair and of
a manner not altogether free from a suspicion of that which scoffers
call the "wash-hand" basin cult.

"I do not know you, sir."

"Indeed you do not--we are total strangers. My name is Sidney Geary; I
am the senior curate of St. Philip's Church at Hampstead. If we could go
somewhere and have a few words, I would be very much obliged to you."

Alban hardly knew what to say to him. The manner was not that of a
philanthropist desiring him to come to a "pleasant afternoon for the
people"; he detected no air of patronage, no vulgar curiosity--indeed,
the curate of St. Philip's was almost deferential.

"Well, sir--if you don't mind a coffee shop--"

"The very place. I have always thought that a coffee shop, properly
conducted and entirely opposed to the alcoholic principle, is one of the
most useful works in the civic economy. Let us go to a coffee shop by
all means."

Alban crossed the road and, leading the stranger a little way eastward,
turned into a respectable establishment upon the Lockhart plan--almost
deserted at such an hour and the very place for a confidential chat.

"Will you have anything, sir?"

The curate looked at the thick cups upon the counter, turned his gaze
for an instant upon a splendid pile of sausages, and shuddered a little
ominously.

"I suppose the people here have excellent appetites," he reflected
sagely. "I myself, unfortunately, have just lunched in Mount Street--but
a little coffee--shall we not drink a little coffee?"

"Suppose I order you two doorsteps and a thick 'un?"

"My dear young fellow, what in heaven's name are 'two doorsteps and a
thick 'un?'"

Alban smiled a little scornfully.

"Evidently you come from the