“My work, let me explain,” he said, hesitatingly, “is not pastoral or... devoted to a particular sphere, since my gifts have not yet... commended themselves to a congregation after such a fashion that they were inclined to... in short, wished to have me as their minister. Mine is a vagum ministerium. I am what is called a probationer, that is, I have been duly educated in profane and sacred learning for the holy ministry, and have passed certain examinations... without discredit.”
“Of that I am sure,” I interpolated with sincerity, whereat the probationer ought to have bowed and replied, “It is very good of you to say so,” but as it was he only blushed and looked as if he had been caught boasting.
“And then?” I suggested.
“It remains to discover whether I am... fit for the practical work of my calling—if it be, indeed, I am called at all.. And here the little man came to a halt.
“You are examined again,” I inquired, tentatively, “or placed under a chief for a little?”
“Well, no, although the latter would be an excellent way—but it is not for me to criticise the rules of my Church; if any congregation has lost its minister, then such as I, that is, persons in a state of probation, are sent each Sabbath to... preach, and then the people choose the one who... And again Mr. Clunas came to a stand for want of fitting words.
“Who comes out first in the preaching competition,” I added, and in an instant was sorry.
“It would ill become me to put the matter... in such a form, and if I have done so it has been an inadvertence, and indeed I did not mean to complain, but rather to explain the reason of... the noise.”
“Please tell me whatever you please, but it was not noise, for I heard some words...
“The rivers of Damascus? I feared so, sir; that was the climax or point of repetition—but I will relate the matter in order, with your permission.