“He's a good boy,” said the other, with the accent of a father's pride and tenderness.
“Going to bring his pretty chickens and their dam?” asked the cousin, parting his coat-skirts to the genial influence of the fire.
“No; it's a short visit. They're going into the Virginia mountains for the summer.” A manservant came in and said something in a low voice. “Heigh? What? Why, of course! Certainly! By all means! Show him in! Come in, parson; come in!” called the host to his yet unseen visitor, and he held out his hand for Sewell to take when he appeared at the door. “Glad to see you! I can't get up,—a little gouty to-day,—but Bellingham's on foot. His difficulty is sitting down.”
Bellingham gave the minister a near-sighted man's glare through his glasses, and then came eagerly forward and shook hands. “Oh, Mr. Sewell! I hope you've come to put up some job on Corey. Don't spare him! With Kanawha Paint Co. at the present figures he merits any demand that Christian charity can make upon him. The man's prosperity is disgraceful.”
“I'm glad to find you here, Mr. Bellingham,” said Sewell, sitting down.
“Oh, is it double-barrelled?” pleaded Bellingham.
“I don't know that it's a deadly weapon of any kind,” returned the minister. “But if one of you can't help me, perhaps the other can.”
“Well, let us know what the job is,” said Corey. “We refuse to commit ourselves beforehand.”
“I shall have to begin at the beginning,” said Sewell warningly, “and the beginning is a long way off.”
“No matter,” said Bellingham adventurously. “The further off, the better. I've been dining with Corey—he gives you a very good dinner now, Corey does—and I'm just in the mood for a deserving case.”