"My son tells me you are a minister of the gospel."
"I have studied for it."
"What denomination?"
"Tut, tut!" warned Herman. "Don't start any theological rabbits to-night, Dad. With jaw swelled up you won't be able to hold your own."
"I'm a Baptist," Stacey answered.
The old man's face grew grim. It had been ludicrous before with its swollen jaw. "Baptist!" He turned a stern look upon his son, whose smile angered him. "Didn't you know no more'n to bring a Baptist preacher into this house?"
"There, there, father!" began the wife.
"Be quiet. I'm boss of this shanty, and I won't have you bringing—"
Herman struck in: "Don't make a show of yourself, old man. Never mind the old gent, Stacey; he's mumpy to-day, anyhow."
Stacey rose. "I guess I—I'd better not stay—I—"