rejoice to say that poor Dick lived long enough
to heartily repent him of his sins, which after all were sins against
himself. He often talked of home and you, alluding feelingly to the
sacrifices you had made on his behalf--sacrifices that he confessed
were far greater than his deserts.

"I am a poor man, but I felt impelled to give your son the funeral of
a gentleman. The bills I have paid, as you will observe, in full,
including the purchase in perpetuity of a lot in the cemetery. Should
you see fit to refund me these amounts, I shall not refuse the money;
if, on the other hand, you repudiate the claim, I shall let the matter
drop. I could not permit my friend to be buried as a pauper.

"It is possible that you may wish a stone placed at the head of the
grave. A suitable cross of plain white marble would cost about two
hundred dollars. If you care to entrust me with the sad commission, I
will give it my earnest attention.

"I refer you to my aunt, Miss Janetta Crisp, of Montpelier Road,
Brighton, and also to the Clergy List.

"Very truly yours,

"Tudor Crisp (The Rev.)."

"There," exclaimed Mr. Carteret, "that will do the trick. The bills
and other documents we'll forge at our leisure to-morrow."

"I don't quite like the use of my name," protested the Rev. Tudor
Crisp.

Dick explained that his reverence would be entitled to half the
plunder, and that discovery was almost impossible. Still, despite
Dick's eloquence, the 'Bishop' submitted that such a cruel fraud was
"tough" on the old gentleman.

"On the contrary," retorted the other. "He will assume that I died in
the odour of sanctity, in the atmosphere of a rectory, in the arms of
a parson. He'll worry no more, poor old chap, about my past or my
future. This is the turning-point of our fortunes. Don't look so glum,
man. Here--hit the demijohn again."

But the 'Bishop' declined this invitation, and betook himself to his
blankets, muttering inarticulate nothings. Dick relighted his pipe,
and refilled his glass. Then he walked to the mantelshelf and gazed
long and critically at three framed photographs of his father and two
sisters. These were almost the only property he possessed. It is
significant from an ethical point of view that Dick kept these
pictures where he could see them. The 'Bishop' had photos also, but
they lay snug at the bottom of an old portmanteau. His reverence was
sensible that he was not worthy to keep company with even the pictures