n who has been called to this delightful
little town?"

"Yes, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. McGowan, this is the Reverend Mr. Means
from New York City."

The studied dignity of the visiting clergyman seemed to receive a
decided shock as he rolled up out of his chair. He stood before the
candidate to whom the Elder had introduced him and forgot to look at the
ceiling. He had been caught off his guard, and through the momentary
look of recognition there flitted across his flabby features an
expression that was far from ecclesiastical. But it was gone as quickly
as it had come, and the Reverend Mr. Means was once more his complacent
unperturbed self.

"Ho! So this is our candidate? So!" he exploded. "I am glad, Mr.
McGowan, to shake your hand, and perhaps we'd better do it now, for we
might not so desire when the grilling is over. So!" He laughed
vociferously at his rude joke, and offered his fish-like palm.

"I'm glad to see you again," lied the candidate, cheerfully.

"Again?" echoed the man, his mirth suddenly controlled by well-feigned
astonishment. "Again?"

"Have you so soon forgotten how strongly you opposed me last year when I
was up before the New York Presbytery for ordination?"

"So? Really so? Ah! Yes. I do remember, now that you call it to mind.
That probably accounts for the familiarity of your face. But I did not
oppose you for personal reasons, I assure you. It was because of your
radical theological beliefs. I do not allow personal reasons to enter
into my religious activities."

"But why should you have personal reasons for not wishing to see me
ordained?"

"Just so! Just so! I did not mean to say I had any. But, as you
doubtless remember, my brethren overruled my objections, and although I
greatly regret the theological laxity of our Presbytery, I am willing to
abide by the decision of the majority. So!"

He dismissed the two men with a wide gesture, and dropped back into his
chair. When Mr. Fox and his charge were out of sight, Mr. Means motioned
to Mr. Harry Beaver. He whispered in the little man's ear, and indicated
the groups of ministers gathered here and there about the room.

Harry Beaver had the misfortune to stutter, and in his eagerness to make
himself understood he would support himself, stork-like, on one leg, and
pump the other up and down with frantic jerks. Mr. Beaver's services
were invaluable in such cases as this when gossip was to be repeated,
for his stuttering compelled him