French waited, and Brown went on. "He was called to marry a couple the other day, got hopelessly drunk, charged them ten dollars, and they are not sure whether they are married or not. Last Sunday he drummed the people up to confession. It was a long time since they had had a chance, and they were glad to come. He charged them two dollars apiece, tried to make it five, but failed, and now he introduces himself to me by closing my school. He may mean well, but his methods would bear improvement. However, as I have said, we will give him a chance."
"And meantime?" enquired French.
"Meantime? Oh! I shall stick to my pills and plasters,—we have ten patients in the hospital now,—run the store and the mill, and try to help generally. If this priest gets at his work and makes good, I promise you I'll not bother him."
"And if not?" enquired French.
"If not? Well, then," said Brown, sinking back into his easy, good-natured manner, "you see, I am constitutionally indolent. I would rather he'd move out than I, and so while the colony stays here, it will be much easier for me to stay than to go. And," he added, "I shall get back my school, too."
French looked at him admiringly. Brown's lips had come together in a straight line.
"By George! I believe you," exclaimed French, "and I think I see the finish of the Polish gentleman. Can I help you out?"
"I do not know," said Brown, "but Kalman can. I want him to do some interpreting for me some of these days. By the way, where is he to-day? He is not with you."
French's face changed. "That reminds me," he said, "but I hate to unload my burden on you to-day when you have got your own."
"Do not hesitate," said Brown, with a return of his cheery manner; "another fellow's burden helps to balance one's own. You know I am constitutionally selfish and get thinking far too much of myself, —habit of mine, bad habit."