empty. Hence my business. I, Bishop Phillipson, am a
People-Getter."

"You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal.

"I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank.
Of course, you could fill 'em with paper--"

"Paper?"

"Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but
contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about
the job efficiently."

H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to
help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's
intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that
the Bishop said, with cold formality:

"You express yourself in such a way--"

"I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are _talked_
about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a
specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money,
only in efficiency!"

The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen
eyes and the resolute chin was neither a lunatic nor an impostor.
Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not
help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young
man. Further talk was a waste of time.

"I fear this discussion is fruitless--"

"I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to
marry Grace Goodchild--"

The Bishop straightened in his chair and looked at H. R. with a new and
more personal interest.

"Indeed!" he said, so humanly that it sounded like "Do tell!" Grace was
one of his flock. He remembered now that his friends the Goodchilds had
been in print lately and that editorials had been written about the
young man who proposed to marry the only daughter.

"I promised Grace that I would help our Church--"

To the Bishop these words, which the young man had used before, now had
a different meaning. It was no longer an utter stranger, but an
eccentric acquaintance; a character, as characterless people call them.

"Yes?" And the Bishop listened attentively.

"I've doped it out--" pursued H. R., earnestly.

"I beg your pardon?" said the Bishop and blushed.

"I have arrived at a logical conclusion," translated H. R. "In short, I
have found what will put Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists,
Lutherans, Jews, Parsees, and native-born Americans on the Christian map
of New York. And it will not necessitate turning the unoccupi