"There may be something in that," admitted Frank. "I knew a parson once on a time who never mentioned religion unless some one broached the subject, except when he was in the pulpit. His name was Lamfear. He did not go around with his face
drawn down, asking everybody if they had received salvation and loved the Lord. I admired him more than any parson I ever knew, and I used to go to his church Sundays to hear him preach. He was a good man, although he seemed to enjoy seeing boys play baseball and skate and coast and fly kites. I remember that one time he put on skates himself, and took a spin on the river with the boys and girls. Now I know that man did more good by keeping still about religion than he could have done had he dinned it into the ears of everybody he met. Every one saw he was a good man, for his daily life told that. All the young folks admired him as much as they disliked another old parson who was forever talking about the wickedness of the world and the goodness of the Lord, and collaring persons everywhere to ask them why they did not attend church oftener. Good old Parson Lamfear! May his tribe increase!"
"Well," said Griswold, "we'll let Parson Lamfear rest. What we want to know is if you are with us to-night."
"To go, or not to go? that is the burning question,"
murmured Browning, as, still stretched on his back, he struck a match, lighted a cigarette, dropped part of the match on his chin, and gave a howl of pain.
Frank suddenly made up his mind.
"I'll go," he said.