“No, not yet,” returned the vicar. “All being well, I hope to perform the ceremony on Sunday week.”
“Well, before you do so, Milnes, I should advise you to ascertain whether he has ever been baptized before,” said Karne, his brows drawn together in a frown. “I am very sorry to have to destroy your good faith in the man, but I am not going to stand by and see you taken in by a scoundrel like Strelitzki. There exists, unfortunately, a certain class of low Jews—mostly foreigners—who will change their religion until they have joined almost every recognized sect, so long as there is some pecuniary advantage to be gained by their doing so. They are generally men out of work, being unable or too lazy to get employment; and so they prey upon these various missionary and conversionist societies, who, in their misguided zeal, welcome them with open arms. Their material necessities are attended to, as well as their spiritual needs, so that they find that, at least temporarily, conversion is a paying game. That Strelitzki belongs to this class, I am confident, and the less you have to do with him the better.”
The good vicar was inexpressibly shocked. He thought, however, that his friend was slightly prejudiced against converted Jews, for, in the many arguments they had had on the subject, they had never yet been able to agree.
“This is a serious allegation, Karne,” he said gravely. “I have been greatly deceived if such is indeed the case. About these conversionist societies I know very little; but I hope—and, yes, in spite of what you say, I believe—that the majority of their converts are sincere. Unfortunately there are black sheep in every fold. But I certainly thought that Jacob Strelitzki was a genuine seeker after truth. Are you sure that you have not misjudged him, Karne? His character may not be irreproachable in other respects, I admit, but in this, at least, his motive may be pure?”
“Shall I tell you why Strelitzki left the factory?” said the artist, his eyes kindling with indignation. “Because he was turned away on account of his persistent drunkenness. You know me pretty well, I think, Milnes: I’m not the sort of fellow to give a person a bad character if I can possibly find anything good to say about him; on the contrary, I am always ready to take into consideration a man’s up-bringing, and to make allowance for the special temptations with which he may have had to cope. But I cannot sufficiently express my contempt for Jacob Strelitzki. He is not worthy of the name of Jew, And as for caring aught about his soul—why he has no more soul than this dog here; nay, not so much, for look into Dandy’s eyes and you will find honesty and integrity reflected in their depths, whereas Strelitzki possesses neither of these virtues. He has attempted to sponge upon me times without number; and now that I refuse to render him any further assistance, he uses threats, and curses me behind my back. That’s the kind of man Strelitzki is, and I am very angry indeed that he should have tried to impose on such generous-minded men as you and Squire Stannard.”
The vicar had never heard Karne speak so trenchantly before, and although he still felt half inclined to give Strelitzki the benefit of the doubt, he knew that his friend would not give vent to such a vigorous denunciation without good cause. He was terribly disappointed in what he had heard, for he was a simple-minded man with a great faith in human goodness, and it always pained him to have his favourite theory upset.
He looked quite worried as he adjourned with Karne and Salmon to the library, where his daughter was the last remaining visitor.
“Of course I shall have to refuse Strelitzki baptism for the present,” he said, when he had informed her of Herbert Karne’s opinion. “And we can give him no further help whilst he continues to be such a reprobate.”
“I told you I thought he was not really a Christian, didn’t I, father?” said Gladys, who prided herself on her perception of character. “We saw him loitering outside the King’s Arms the other afternoon, and he was using abusive language in connection with Mr. Karne. Geoffrey wanted to go and punch his head, but I restrained him, because I thought the man was drunk. I should advise you to carry a revolver about with you,” she added, turning towards Herbert. “He might try to murder you, one of these dark nights. Such things do happen, you know, and he is such a nasty-looking man.”
Herbert laughed. “I don’t think he would attempt that,” he answered carelessly. “He is too much of a coward.”