en went on with a
change of tone. "Of course, though, what I really want is to help him
pass the time, if I can. He must be very lonely for thoroughly
congenial people. Must you go? Be sure you give the poor dear man my
message. And good bye. Next time, I do hope I shall have a respectable
maid to let you out. I'm quite ashamed--Good bye."

Out on the steps in the clean February air and sunshine, Olive drew in
a deep, full breath.

"Poor, dear old Reed!" she said. And then, in quite another tone, "Poor
Mr. Brenton! How totally impossible she is!"

And, meanwhile, the "puffic' fibbous," quite unaware of their
discussion of his personality and its injuries, lay smiling mirthfully
up into the eyes of his old friend.

"Spit it out, Brenton! Rift it aff yer chist!" he adjured him.
"Something has gone bad inside your Denmark, and I'm so far kindred to
the blessed angels that I don't tell any tales."

Brenton squirmed with a physical uneasiness that was an outward and
visible sign of his spiritual one.

"What's the use?"

"Ease your mind. It's a good thing to get rid of waste matter, if 't is
waste. Else, if it's any good, it will gain value by being set forth in
order. Go ahead with your firstly. By the way, why don't you smoke?"

"Because I have a conscience," Brenton told him bluntly.

"Approaching Lent; or on my account? Don't mind me. I rather long for
the smell of the stuff, even if the taste of it is forbidden me.
Really, Brenton," and Opdyke looked up at him with singularly unclouded
eyes; "that's about my present life in epitome. I offer you the idea
for your next sermon."

"Sermon be hanged! I don't serve up my friends, by way of garnishing my
theoretical beliefs," Brenton objected shortly.

Opdyke made a wry face.

"That's where you miss your innings, then. I understand, by way of
Ramsdell, that the Methodist incumbent lately preached a sermon upon
resignation, and did me the honour of taking me, quite specifically, to
illustrate his climax. That is what I call fame, Brenton, a greater
fame than any I ever could have garnered in by way of engineering."

"Beastly thing to do!" Brenton made brief comment.

"Wasn't it? When I get on my legs again, if ever I do, I'll call him
out and lick him. By the way, the last of my cigars are in that drawer.
Don't let them spoil. Well, as I was saying, what humbugs you parsons
are!"

Brenton, digging in the chaos of the drawer before him, lifted up his
head.