"Why, you couldn't have been listening much to gossip since you came down here—not very much," said Saunders. "The Padre is here by choice—but only partially by choice."
"By choice, but only partially by choice?" Mark was curious by this time. "I don't quite understand."
Saunders smiled knowingly, and dropped his voice.
"It's like this," he whispered. "The Padre was a big man in the city six months ago. He was what they call a vicar general—next job to the bishop, you know. He was a great friend of the old Bishop who died three months before the Padre came here. A new Bishop came—"
"'Who knew not Joseph'?"
But the Scripture was lost on the agent.
"His name is not Joseph," he answered solemnly, "but Donald, Donald Murray. I read it on the book order I got."
"Donald! Funny name for a Catholic," commented Mark. "It sounds Presbyterian."
"That's what it is," said Saunders quickly. "The Padre is a convert to the Catholic Church. He was 'way up once, but he lost his big job as vicar general, and then he lost all his big jobs. I met a priest on the train once—a young fellow—who told me, with a funny sort of laugh that sounded a bit sad, too, that the Bishop had the Padre buried."
"I see," said Mark, though he didn't see any more than the agent. "But the priest doesn't take it hard, does he?"