“You must make allowances for us business men, Mr. Hodder. I mean, of course, we're sometimes a little lax in our duties—in the summer, that is. Don't shoot the pianist, he's doing his—ahem! You know the story.
“By the way, I hear great things of you; I'm told it's on the cards that you're to be made a bishop.”
“Oh,” answered the rector, “there are better men mentioned than I!”
“I want you to know this,” said his vestryman, as he seized Hodder's hand, “much as we value you here, bitterly as we should hate to lose you, none of us, I am sure, would stand in the way of such a deserved advancement.”
“Thank you, Mr. Plimpton,” said the rector.
Mr. Plimpton watched the vigorous form striding through the great chamber until it disappeared. Then he seized his hat and made his way as rapidly as possible through the crowds to the Parr Building. At the entrance of the open-air roof garden of the Eyrie he ran into Nelson Langmaid.
“You're the very man I'm after,” said Mr. Plimpton, breathlessly. “I stopped in your office, and they said you'd gone up.”
“What's the matter, Wallis?” inquired the lawyer, tranquilly. “You look as if you'd lost a couple of bonds.”
“I've just seen Hodder, and he is going to do it.”
“Do what?”