Jim rushed feverishly into explanation. “No, I want to get rid of them,” he gabbled; “I want to get rid of all sorts of things—hats, coats, trousers, dressing-gowns, shirts, vests, boots, slippers, old photographs, umbrellas ...” He paused for breath, inwardly laughing.
Very slowly and deliberately the clergyman adjusted his eyeglasses low down upon his nose, and stared at Jim. “Young man,” he said, “is this a jest at my expense?”
“Good Lord, no!” Jim answered. “I’m in deadly earnest. I can’t possibly live in the house with all these things. You will help me, won’t you? How would it be if you came over to-morrow and cleared them all out, and then had a meeting or something, and gave them as prizes to the regular church-goers?”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the clergyman responded, gently but firmly pushing him aside. “Good-day!”
Jim stared at him as he walked. “You are the vicar, aren’t you?” he asked.
“No, I’m not,” the other replied somewhat sharply, over his shoulder; “I’m the President of Magdalen.”
Jim uttered an exclamation of impatience, and hastened on to the Vicarage.
The servant who appeared in response to his knock, was about to ask him his name, when the vicar, an old man with a clean-shaven, kindly face, and grey hair, happened to cross the hall.
“Yes, what is it, what is it?” he asked, coming to the door, while the maid retired.
“Are you the vicar?” Jim asked, beginning more cautiously.