Father Letheby blushed an affirmative; and then the bishop, with delightful tact, turned to the humbled and almost effaced Father Duff, and said:—
"Father Duff, leave me that paper; I think I'll adopt the admirable suggestion of our friend, Father Dan."
Some of the young fellows, wits and wags as they were, circulated through the diocese the report that I tried to kiss the bishop. Now, there is not a word of truth in that—and for excellent reasons. First, because like Zacchæus, I am short of stature; and the bishop—God bless him!—is a fine, portly man. Secondly, because I have an innate and congenital dread of that little square of purple under his Lordship's chin. I'm sure I don't know why, but it always gives me the shivers. I'm told that they are allowing some new class of people called "Monsignori," and even some little canons, to assume the distinctive color of the episcopate. 'T is a great mistake. Our Fathers in God should have their own peculiar colors, as they have their own peculiar and tremendous responsibilities. But I'll tell you what I did. I kissed the bishop's ring, and I think I left a deep indentation on his Lordship's little finger.
The Master of Conference detained me.
"I'm beginning to like that young fellow of yours," he said. "He appears to have more piety than learning."
"He has both," I replied.
"So he has; so he has, indeed. What are we coming to? What are we coming to, at all?"
"Then I suppose," I said, "I needn't mind that bell?"
"What bell?"
"The bell that I was to tie around his neck."