"Look! the Reverend John Henry Pendlam!"
"Coming out of a bar-room! Ho, ho! Sir Reverend!"
I spoke gayly, but with an indefinably serious sentiment at heart I was interested in this John Henry Pendlam; not particularly on account of the reputation for eloquence and zeal which he had so early and rapidly achieved, but his approaching marriage with my friend's second cousin, Susan D——, (whom I had myself even barely escaped marrying,) quickened a personal curiosity regarding my successor.
"He is on no base errand," replied Horatio. "He goes about carrying the Gospel into these dens. The papers you see in his hand are tracts. Shall I introduce you?"
Before I could fairly answer, No, (for I felt a repugnance to making the acquaintance of any man who was to marry Susan,) Pendlam, standing a moment in the gas-light before the door of the saloon, observed my friend, and advanced quickly.
"Too late to escape!" cried the young clergyman, seizing Horatio by the collar. "I have you, truant!" And he drew a tract upon him, like a revolver.
"I surrender!" said Horatio. "If it's you, don't shoot; I'll come down, as the treed coon said to the hunter."
"Don't think to disarm me by a pleasantry," replied Pendlam, brandishing his spiritual weapon. "This is my sermon on the theatre, which you engaged to hear me preach; I have had it printed for you."
"Really," said Horatio, with a humorous smile, "I had forgotten my promise. Besides, I was engaged,—let me see, it was two Sundays ago, wasn't it?—yes, I was engaged to dine with Miss Kellerton."
"The actress! On Sunday!" said Pendlam, with a shocked expression. "But you might have heard me in the morning."