“I know what you mean, and I appreciate the point you make. It is not a new one to me. I have considered it many times. I have thought the thing out carefully and prayerfully, and I have determined to preach the gospel of Christ as I think He would preach it if He were on earth to-day. I can do no less and square myself with my own conscience.”
“But a clergyman should be politic as well as conscientious. I remember that the apostles were instructed to be ‘wise as serpents’ as well as ‘harmless as doves.’ Well, we can’t settle it on the street corner, that’s sure. We’ll have to broaden our discussion to take in this branch of the subject, and occupy two evenings with it instead of one. So come soon!”
They again separated, but it was Westgate this time who called the clergyman back.
“By the way,” he said, “you are going up to see Mrs. Bradley?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if you should find her in distress, economical distress, I mean, I am very sure that Mr. Malleson would be glad to contribute something toward her relief—two or three hundred dollars maybe; enough to pay funeral expenses and a little over. He harbors no resentment against her on account of the suit. He lays all that up against Sheldrake. Indeed, if the woman is suffering for necessaries, I should be glad to make a modest contribution myself.”
“Thank you! I’ll find out. But the impression that I have of her is that she would be more likely to resent than to accept any gratuity from either Mr. Malleson or you. Nevertheless, I will keep your offer in mind, and I will present it to her if it should appear to be desirable to do so.”
“Thank you!”
The rector again turned away, but he did not get to Factory Hill that morning. Before he had gone two blocks from Westgate’s office a parishioner came hurrying after him and besought him to go to see a sick girl living in another suburb of the city, a girl who felt that she could not close her eyes to the scenes of earth until she had bared her soul to the rector of Christ Church. So he went to her.
The Reverend Mr. Farrar was not the only one who discovered in the morning paper a notice of John Bradley’s death. Barry Malleson came upon it accidentally, as he came upon most other things of any moment, and it at once aroused his deep interest. He was at his desk in the president’s office at the factory, where he could be found practically every working day during office hours. His name appeared in the list of officers of the Malleson Manufacturing Company as vice-president. Some one said that it did no harm, and it tickled Barry’s vanity. His salary was quite satisfactory. His duties were not accurately defined, although they appeared to consist largely in obeying the president’s will, as a matter of fact, and of sustaining the burden of the conduct of the company’s affairs as a matter of personal belief. His father would have found it difficult to get along without him. He would have found it impossible to get along without his father. That Barry had his uses there can be no possible doubt. He was replete with suggestion, and that his suggestions were rarely acted upon never deterred nor discouraged him. He had a suggestion to make this morning in connection with John Bradley’s death. It came into his mind simultaneously with the reading of the death notice. He turned toward the man sitting at the desk across the room.