“That really simplifies the whole thing!” Mills replied, and with a little laugh he went on to his office.
He thought it fine of the minister to give audience to the melancholy suppliants who sought him for alms and counsel. He didn’t envy Lindley his job, but it had to be done by someone. Lindley was really a very good fellow indeed, Mills reflected—a useful man in the community, and not merely an agreeable table companion and witty after-dinner speaker.
II
Before he read his mail Mills dispatched the check for a thousand dollars by special messenger. It was a pleasure to help Lindley in his work. A man who had to deal with such unpleasant specimens of humanity as collected at Lindley’s door shouldn’t be disregarded. He remembered having seen Lindley driving about in a rattletrap machine that was a disgrace to the parish and the town. It was a reflection upon St. Barnabas that its rector was obliged to go about his errands in so disreputable a car.
When Carroll came in with some reports Mills told him to see Henderson and order a Plantagenet for Lindley to be delivered at the clergyman’s house Christmas morning.
Carroll reported a court decision in Illinois sustaining the validity of some municipal bonds in which Mills had invested.
“Christmas presents coming in early,” Mills remarked as he read the telegram. “I thought I was stung there.”
He approved of the world and its ways. It was a pretty good world, after all; a world in which he wielded power, as he liked to wield it, quietly, without subjecting himself to the fever and fret of the market place. Among other memoranda Carroll had placed on his desk was a list of women—old friends of Mrs. Mills—to whom he had sent flowers every Christmas since her death. The list was kept in the office files from year to year to guard against omissions. Sentiment. Mills liked to believe himself singularly blessed with sentiment. He admired himself for this fidelity to his wife’s old friends. They probably spoke to one another of these annual remembrances as an evidence of the praiseworthy feeling he entertained for the old times.
“You told me to keep on picking up Rogers Trust whenever it was in the market,” said Carroll. “Gurley called up yesterday and asked if you wanted any more. I’ve got two hundred shares here—paid three eighteen. They’re closing the transfer books tomorrow so I went ahead without consulting you.”
“That part of it’s all right,” Mills remarked, scanning the certificate. “Who’s selling this?”