ontinued, with a contemplative smile, blowing a thin stream of smoke
towards the distant ceiling, "I should bet that you have spent your
summer looking over the ground. I don't say that you have missed your
vocation, Mr. Hodder, but I don't mind telling you that for a clergyman,
for a man absorbed in spiritual matters, a man who can preach
the sermons you preach, you've got more common-sense and business
thoroughness than any one I have ever run across in your profession."

"Looking over the ground?" Hodder repeated, ignoring the compliment.

"Sure," said Mr. Plimpton, smiling more benignly than ever. "You mustn't
be modest about it. Dalton Street. And when that settlement house is
built, I'll guarantee it will be run on a business basis. No nonsense."

"What do you mean by nonsense?" Hodder asked. He did not make the
question abrupt, and there was even the hint of a smile in his eyes,
which Mr. Plimpton found the more disquieting.

"Why, that's only a form of speech. I mean you'll be practical,
efficient, that you'll get hold of the people of that neighbourhood and
make 'em see that the world isn't such a bad place after all, make 'em
realize that we in St. John's want to help 'em out. That you won't
make them more foolishly discontented than they are, and go preaching
socialism to them."

"I have no intention of preaching socialism," said Hodder. But he laid a
slight emphasis on the word which sent a cold shiver down Mr. Plimpton's
spine, and made him wonder whether there might not be something worse
than socialism.

"I knew you wouldn't," he declared, with all the heartiness he could
throw into his voice. "I repeat, you're a practical, sensible man.
I'll yield to none in my belief in the Church as a moral, uplifting,
necessary spiritual force in our civilization, in my recognition of her
high ideals, but we business men, Mr. Hodder,--as--I am sure you must
agree,--have got to live, I am sorry to say, on a lower plane. We've
got to deal with the world as we find it, and do our little best to help
things along. We can't take the Gospel literally, or we should all be
ruined in a day, and swamp everybody else. You understand me?

"I understand you," said the rector.

Mr. Plimpton's cigar had gone out. In spite of himself, he had slipped
from the easy-going, casual tone into one that was becoming persuasive,
apologetic, strenuous. Although the day was not particularly warm, he
began to perspire a little; and he re