"How are the Porters?" he asked presently of Raridan.
"Very well, and staying on in the heat with the usual Clarkson fortitude."
"Porter's one of the men that never rest," said the bishop. "I've known him ever since I've known the West, and he's taken few vacations in that time."
"Well, he's showing signs of wear," said Raridan. "He's one of the men who begin with a small business where they do all the work themselves, and when the business outgrows them, they never realize that they need help, or that they can have any. Before they made Wheaton cashier, Porter carried the whole bank in his head. He's improving a little, and has a stenographer now; but he's nervous and anxious all the while and terribly fussy over all he does."
"Wheaton ought to be a great help to him," said the bishop. "He seems a steady fellow, hard working and industrious."
"Oh, he's all those things," Raridan answered carelessly. "He'll never steal anybody's money."
The bishop talked directly to Raridan about some work which it seemed the young man had done for him, and rose to go. He had been in town only a few hours, after a business journey to New York, and on reaching his rooms had found a summons calling him to a neighboring jurisdiction, to perform episcopal functions for a brother bishop who was ill. Saxton and Warrick went down to the car with him, carrying the battered suit cases which contained his episcopal robes and personal effects. These cases showed rough usage; they had been to Canterbury and had found lodging many nights in the sod houses of the plains.
"How do you like him?" asked Raridan, as the bishop climbed into a street car headed toward the station.
"He looks like the real thing," said Saxton. "He has a voice and a beard like a prophet."
"He's a fine character,—one of the people that understand things without being told. A few men and women in the world have that kind of instinct. They're put here, I guess, to help those who don't understand themselves."