"Show him in here, James, and light up," said the general.
When the rector entered, the general greeted him cheerfully.
"Sit down, sit down, and let us talk it all over," the general began. "I have not yet turned over your resignation to the trustees; and yet, in my opinion, this resignation is the best thing possible under the circumstances. You were not exactly cut out for a minister, though you have done more good to the poor than a dozen of your predecessors. I wish to apologize to you for some thoughts I have harbored against you. Wait a minute, wait a minute," as the rector raised a protesting hand. "I have called you a milksop because you always accepted the trustees' rebuffs with a meek and lowly spirit. But when I saw you lick half a dozen ruffians last night (yes, I was there; and while I'm a churchman, I am a man and a soldier besides), I knew that I had done you an injustice. By the way, are you related to the late Chaplain Allen of the ——st Regiment?"
"He was my father," wonderingly.
"Humph!"
"It was out of regard for him that I became a divinity student."
"Parsons sons are all alike. I never saw a parson's son who wasn't a limb of the Old Scratch. You became a divinity student after you left Harvard?"
The rector sent his host a startled glance.
"Oh, I have heard all about that episode; and I like you all the better for it. You should have been a soldier. We used to call your father the 'fighting parson.' Now, I've a proposition to make to you. Do you know anything about mining? anything about metals and geology?"
"Yes, sir; I have had a large reading upon those subjects." The rector's heart was thumping.