"You are what?" The Bishop did not frown; his amazement was too abysmal.
"I fill churches. Since this is really a family affair, let us be frank. Of course, you could fill 'em with paper—"
"Paper?"
"Theatrical argot for deadheads, Bishop; people who don't pay, but contribute criticisms of the show. I am here to tell you how to go about the job efficiently."
H. R.'s manner was so earnest, it so obviously reflected his desire to help, that the Bishop could not take offense at the young man's intentions. The words, however, were so much more than offensive that the Bishop said, with cold formality:
"You express yourself in such a way—"
"I'll tell you the reason. Deeds never convert until they are talked about. Dynamic words are needed. Ask any business man. I have made a specialty of them. I may add that I am not interested in making money, only in efficiency!"
The Bishop saw plainly that this well-dressed young man with the keen eyes and the resolute chin was neither a lunatic nor an impostor. Therefore the Bishop instantly realized that the young man could not help the Church and equally that the Church could not help the young man. Further talk was a waste of time.
"I fear this discussion is fruitless—"
"I wasn't discussing; I was asserting. I am the man who is going to marry Grace Goodchild—"