But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore the Bishop answered, very politely:
"I am very well, thank you."
"Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R.
"Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers.
He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. One might imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, and the love of words.
"Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop.
"My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson.
"I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly.
The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls disreputable—after they get into print.
H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church."