ble propositions, to use his own phrase.

The textual study of the Bible had been accounted such a
proposition until recently. Bible-words they were now that buzzed
in his ears.

'He it is to whom I shall give the sop when I have dipped it. And
when He had dipped the sop. . .'

The sop, the dipping, yes, he remembered now. He had read the
words in Church two or three evenings ago.

'He gave it to Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon.' He started.
'And after the sop, Satan entered.' He shuddered.

He wished that incident at lunch-time had never occurred. Of
course it was pure chance, but still it was bizarre.

Was it pure chance? 'I'm not so sure,' reflected Julian. 'I wish
Hunter'd mind his own business.'

That farewell banquet at the Mount Pleasant Mission had left an
ill taste behind.

II. THE SYMBOL OF THE SPURNED

Some five years after, Julian Borne came up to Rosebery by the
early train. He awoke at dawn and threw up the window. He was
traveling in a sleeping compartment deluxe. He had appearances to
keep up now.

The sun had tilted up a golden arc and the withered landscape
took a lavish glory.

Julian's eyes fell on some shabby thatched roofs that the blaze
was brightening. 'Mount Pleasant Mission!' he said to himself.
'and to think I wasted three good years of my life there. Three
bob a day with rations and no drinks. Good Lord!' He filled his
pipe as the poverty-stricken homestead passed out of sight. 'Yet
it wasn't all waste,' he went on. 'I got to know the country and
its questions. I got to know how to manage men.' He laughed a
little to himself complacently. 'No, I couldn't manage Hunter.
They told me last week he was nearly dead with blackwater. I
wonder if he's dead by now. Not one head of cattle to bless
himself with, I'll bet, and no banking account ever opened in his
name. He was quite unmanageable.'

'Ah! But I managed some of them. What about the Canon
Superintendent?' A white-haired vision, creasy-chinned and rosy,
passed before his eyes. 'Toad!' he muttered and kicked the
foot-warmer. 'Even so,' he growled. 'Butter for the clergy, palm-oil
for the laity, big stick for the incorruptible!' His face grew
hard as he thought over some contemplated applications. His face
was little changed in five years save for the wrinkles about the
eyes.

The train drew up at the platform. Julian found a good many
acquaintances as he passed along it. But he was not disposed to
make himself too