"I shall be glad of the excuse," replied the other frankly. "It is horribly thirsty weather—isn't it? And a thirst is catching. I've been working amongst the navvies this morning. Glorious chaps—some of them! I attend to the games, you know—cricket and football."
He plunged into a description of the men with whom he had dealings; and from them, by a natural transition, to David Ross, who had just been ordained Bishop of Poplar. For David Ross great things were predicted.
"It's like this," he concluded: "Our people are waking up. Time they did, too. And the men who will fill the big billets will be those who have seen active service. I don't sneer at the scholars, but a bishop nowadays must be more concerned with the present than the past. Ross chucked the schools, and he was right; he has given his attention to conditions of life amongst the very poor, and I believe he knows more about 'em than most men of twice his age and experience. Samphire's friends may think he's wasting his time—from a worldly point of view, I mean—down here in the slums, but he isn't."
Mark's entrance cut short this conversation, and the speaker withdrew at once.
"Nice boy," said Mark. "The sort we want most, and so seldom get. Half our fellows are discouraged, and show it; but I'm not going to talk shop to you, old chap."
"I saw Betty Kirtling to-day," said Jim abruptly. "It's amazing that she is still Betty Kirtling."
Mark said nothing. Jim, after a keen glance at his pale face, began to speak of the Whitsuntide party, which at first Mark refused to join. Jim grew warm in persuasion, accusing Mark of churlishness, making the matter one personal to himself. Finally, Mark consented to spend four days at Birr Wood.
"We shall hear Archie preach in Westchester Cathedral," Mark said.
"I wish it were you," Jim replied quickly.
"I shall never p-p-preach," stammered Mark.