“There!” said Mr. Stark, admiringly, “I’ll risk you anywhere. If anything unlooked-for happens, you are the Reverend Mr. Withers, living at No. —— 12th street, New York. Here, take this cane and volume of commentaries. Ha! ha! you look like a natural-born missionary!”
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
“What’s wanted?” demanded Mr. Stark.
“Here’s your morning paper, sir,” came in a boy’s voice.
“Why didn’t you bring it in sooner?” asked Mr. Stark, opening the door.
“The clerks were reading it, sir.”
“Couldn’t they find anything else to do?”
Without waiting for an answer, he closed the door in the boy’s face, and then ran his eyes down the column of telegraphic reports.
Suddenly he turned to Leonard.
“You say you last heard from your cousin through Mr. Snags, on the day the examination was in progress.”