At the door a man-servant took his card and he was met in the reception room by a young clergyman, who conducted him to the second floor. As Kimberly entered the large room into which he was ushered he saw the prelate rising from his table. He was a grave man and somewhat spare in his height, slightly stooped with the passing of seventy years, and bearing in the weariness of his face an expression of kindliness and intelligence.
"This is a pleasure, Mr. Kimberly," he said, extending his hand.
"It is a pleasure for me, your grace."
"Come this way," continued the archbishop, indicating a divan in one corner of the room.
"I brought no letter of introduction other than that from Doctor Hamilton, which I sent you," Kimberly began as the archbishop seated himself.
"Surely, you did not consider even Doctor Hamilton's note necessary," returned the archbishop, while his secretary withdrew. "Your name and that of your family have been familiar to me for many years. And I fear those of my people who venture in upon you with their petitions do not always bring letters."
"You have occupied this see for many years," suggested Kimberly in compliment.
"As priest and bishop I have lived in this diocese more than forty years. It seems a long time. Yet the name of Kimberly was very old here when I came, and without ever meeting one of your family, I have heard much of you all since. So if there were no other reason, I should welcome your call as an opportunity to tell you how grateful I am, and the charities of the archdiocese are, for your repeated generosities. You know we are not blessed among our own people with many benefactors of large means. And the calls come upon us with surprising frequency."
"My father," responded Kimberly, "who was more of a philosopher than a merchant, impressed me very early with the truth that your church was a bulwark of social order--one which to that extent laid all thoughtful men under a debt to it."
"You are a man of wide interests, Mr. Kimberly."