The man quickened his
steps and came up to the door.

In the space of two minutes, with nervous, hurried voice, the Rev.
Samuel had told him of his predicament. The man looked on amazed,
but said nothing.

"Now, have you just come from Communion?" he asked at the conclusion
of his explanation.

"Me?" said the man. "No."

"Then I must entreat you to let me read that part of the service to
you--I assure you it won't take long--that is necessitated by the
taking of the wine. You see I must institute you as a communicant.
You are of course a--a Protestant?" he added in sudden afterthought.

"Me?" said the man. "No."

Mr. Bishop stood up dismayed.

"Not a Protestant?" he exclaimed in wonder.

"No, why should I be? Nor anything else. Don't believe in it,
'specially if it can put gentlemen in such a position as you're in
now. I'll drink the wine for you if you like. I see no harm in that.
I'll drink it reverently too--I don't want to hurt your feelings.
But you can't expect me to take it for granted that it ain't nothin'
else but what it is--just the juice out of the grape, don't yer know.
You see, I know what I'm talking about. I'm a chauffeur now, but I
used to be in a brewery--see?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Bishop bitterly, sarcastically; "but you can
be of no service to me." He retired, closing the door and saying
"Thank you" again, in the same tone of voice.

When he found himself alone once more in the vestry he took another
sip of wine. The sentiments which that man had expressed were half
rankling in his mind. They made him feel careless, reckless. He did
not really think of what he was doing. He took another sip--it was
most palatable--and another--it was certainly very good to the taste.
With the little food that he had taken that day, he felt it warm within
him. It was considerably more than half-finished now. He waited again,
and really he felt no bad effects.

Once more he looked at his watch. They were actually sitting down
to dinner now. He walked down the floor of the vestry and back again,
and his steps were quite steady; so he took another sip. Then he
breathed into his open hand held up against his face--as he had once
seen an undergraduate do at Oxford--but he could detect no perfume
of the wine in his breath. Possibly it would be all right. And he
was looking forward so intensely to meeting the bishop. He felt that
he would be able to convince him of the need for his little
alterations.

O