You might call Canisius a man of war, an old veteran. His hair had grown gray in battles of the soul, in fighting back heresy, in strengthening weak hearts through that age of trial. He knew the value of enthusiasm, but he knew its weakness, too.
"A very taking lad," he thought to himself. "He flashes like a rapier. But will his metal stand hard use?"
It was the thought of common sense. He did not mistrust Stanislaus. But, on the other hand, what did he know about him? He had not much to go by as yet; only Antoni's letter, and the boy's engaging presence. He would take no definite step about admitting Stanislaus into the Society until he did know more.
"Yon want to be a Jesuit?" he said, with thoughtful brows. "When?"
It was on Stanislaus' tongue to say, "Now, at once." But he hesitated a moment, and said instead, "As soon as you think fit."
You are a stranger to us, you know," Canisius went on, smiling a little, but pleasantly. "And before we admit men amongst us, we need to know that they have something more than a mere desire to join us.. That takes time to find out. Are you willing to stop in the college here for a while?"
Stanislaus answered promptly, "Of course I am."
"Not as a student," said Canisius. "But as a servant?"
"As anything you want," Stanislaus agreed.
"Well, come with me," Canisius said, and he led the way to the kitchen.