that, many of them painted wonderfully well."

"And a narrow-minded, bigoted lot they were," broke in Crackburn. "If
they'd had their way there would not have been a printing-press in
existence. If you are going to canonize anybody, begin with Aldus
Minutius."

"Only a difference in patrons," chimed in Lockwood, "the difference
between a pope and a doge."

"And it's the same to-day," echoed Kelsey, taking the book from O'Day's
hand, to keep the leaves from buckling. "Only it's neither pope nor
doge, but the money king who's the patron. We should all starve to death
but for him. I've been waiting for Mr. O'Day to hunt one down and make
him buy this," he added, closing the book carefully. "Nobody else around
here appreciates its rarity or would give a five-dollar bill for it."

"Go slow," puffed old Silas, hunched up in his chair. "Money kings are
good in their way, and so perhaps were popes and doges, but give me a
plain priest every time. You wonder, Mr. O'Day, what those great masters
in art could have done without the protection of the church. I wonder
what the poor of to-day would do without their priests. Go up to 28th
Street and look in at St. Barnabas's. Its doors are open from before
sunrise until near midnight. When you are in trouble, either hungry or
hunted, and most of the poor are both, walk in and see what will happen.
You'll find that a priest in New York is everything from a policeman to
a hospital nurse, and he is always on his job. When nobody else listens,
he listens; when nobody else helps, he holds out a hand. I haven't lived
here sixty years for nothing."

"When you say 'listen,'" asked Felix, whose attention to the
conversation had never wavered, "do you refer to the confessional?"

"I do not. That's the least part of it. So are the mass and the candles
and choir-boys and the rest of the outfit, all very well in their way,
for Sundays and fast-days, but just so much stage scenery to me, though
its heaven to the poor devils who get color and music and restful quiet
in contrast to their barren homes. But praying before the altar is only
one-quarter of what these priests are doing every hour of the day and
night. It's part of my business to follow them around, and I know. Hand
me a light, Tim, my pipe's out."

Felix, being nearest the box, struck a match and held it close to
Silas's bowl, a cloud of smoke rising between them. When it had cleared,
O'Day remarked quietly: "Don't stop, Mr. Murfor