"Thanks, Father, I'll do my best. Now let us go on—"
But at this moment the telephone bell rang. Father Murray answered the call.
"It's for you, Mark."
Mark took the receiver, and listened for a moment.
"All right; send him up."
He turned to his companions. "A colored man who insists on seeing me personally."
They had but a few minutes to wait. He came up with a bellboy and stood before them, bowing low—a typical Southern darkey, his hair whitened by age.
"Well, uncle, what can I do for you?" It was Mark who spoke.
"Well, sah, seein' as how I found a lettah addressed to you—"
"A letter?"