He had brought with him from Lone Moose a small bag. Out of this he now took paper, envelopes, a fountain pen, changed his seat to the edge of the bed, and using the stool for a desk began to write. When he had covered two sheets he folded them over the green slip he had that day received, and slid the whole into an envelope which he addressed:
Mr. A.H. Markham,
Sec. M.E. Board of Home Missions,
412 Echo St.,
Toronto, Ont.
He laid the letter on the bed and regarded it with an expression in which regret and relief were equally mingled.
"They'll say—they'll think," he muttered disconnectedly.
He got up, paced across the small room, swung about to look at the letter again.
"I've got to do it," he said aloud defiantly. "It's the only thing I can do. Burn all my bridges behind me. If I can't honestly be a minister, I can at least be a man."