ning door and a quick step on the linoleum of the little dark
passage.

"What's all this?" said a voice, as the woman stepped back.

He was a big, florid young man, with yellow hair, flushed as if with
sleep; his eyes were bright and tired-looking, and his collar was
plainly unbuttoned at the back. Also, his cassock was unfastened at the
throat and he bore a large red handkerchief in his hand. Obviously this
had just been over his face.

Now, I do not blame this priest in the slightest. He had sung a late
mass--which never agreed with him--and in his extreme hunger he had
eaten two platefuls of hot beef, with Yorkshire pudding, and drunk a
glass and a half of solid beer. And he had just fallen into a deep sleep
before giving Catechism, when the footsteps and voices had awakened him.
Further, every wastrel Catholic that came along this road paid him a
call, and he had not yet met with one genuine case of want. When he had
first come here he had helped beggars freely and generously, and he
lived on a stipend of ninety pounds a year, out of which he paid his
housekeeper fifteen.

"What do you want?" he said.

"May I speak to you, father?" said Frank.

"Certainly. Say what you've got to say."

"Will you help me with sixpence, father?"

The priest was silent, eyeing Frank closely.

"Are you a Catholic?"

"Yes, father."

"I didn't see you at mass this morning."

"I wasn't here this morning. I was walking on the roads."

"Where did you hear mass?"

"I didn't hear it at all, father. I was on the roads."

"What's your work?"

"I haven't any."

"Why's that?"

Frank shrugged his shoulders a little.

"I do it when I can get it," he said.

"You speak like an educated man."

"I am pretty well educated."

The priest laughed shortly.

"What's that bruise on your cheek?"

"I was in a street fight, yesterday, father."

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" he said. "Where did you come from last?"

Frank paused a moment. He was very hot and very tired.... Then he spoke.

"I was in prison till Friday," he said. "I was given fourteen days on
the charge of robbing a child, on the twenty-sixth. I pleaded guilty.
Will you help me, father?"

If the priest had not been still half stupid with sleep and indigestion,
and standing in the full blaze of this hot sun, he might have been
rather struck by this last sentence. But he did have those
disadvantages, and he saw in it nothing but insolence.

He laughed again, shortly