The new curate, meanwhile, was having, in vulgar parlance, the time of
his whole life. He was young, ritualistic, and he had a tendency
towards being lungish. Therefore his devoutness was excessive. His
rector, moreover, had a trick of preaching upon the practical issues of
the day, while he left to his assistant the driving home the points of
doctrine. And the assistant did drive them home most lustily and with
resounding whacks, until the sedate walls of old Saint Peter's echoed
with the blows, and the congregations gathered in old Saint Peter's
danced with the pain of the prickings. The mere presence of a pin is
not sufficient to produce any callousness of mind or body. Saint
Peter's had never doubted the force or the efficiency of its doctrines;
but it was at least a generation since it had been so rowelled with
their points.
One such rowelling had just been taking place when, on the Sunday
morning following the Easter holidays, Dolph Dennison dropped in to see
Reed Opdyke. As he more than half expected, he found Olive Keltridge
there ahead of him, and it was upon Olive Keltridge that, after a most
unceremonious greeting to his host, Dolph turned the fire of his
interrogation.
"Who is the expensive-looking gentleman in the bunny hood, Olive, the
one that sat back in the corner and kept tabs on Brenton's reading of
the lessons?"
Olive laughed at the undeniable accuracy of the description.
"That's the new curate, Dolph. You must have seen him before."
"Not," Dolph responded briefly. "It wouldn't be possible to forget him.
What's he for? Ornament? I must say, Saint Peter's is getting frilly in
its hoary age, and frills like that come dear."
"Not so dear as he looks," Olive reassured him. "In reality, he comes
cheap. He is just up from nervous prostration and ordered to a more
relaxing climate, so we got him at a bargain."
"Damaged goods. I see. Seen him, Opdyke? Hood and all--it's of white
bunny--he looks like the tag-end of an importer's mark-down sale, and
his idioms match the rest of him. Where'd they get him, Olive? Not your
father?"
"My father didn't get him, if that is what you mean, Dolph. Mr.
Prather, I believe it was, who recommended him."
"Prather for all the world! Just like the man; he is always on the
still hunt for something a little bit exotic. Next thing we know, we'll
be having the reverend gentleman served up to us in a novel. But why
the bunny? It is no end unmerciful, a day like this, as hot as ermine,
and without any of the glory."
"What does a curate do?" Reed queried. "Besides putting on the hood, I
mean, and lugging round the cakes for tea, in English novels."
"This one leads all the responses, and sometimes he leads them a little
bit ahead of time," Dolph enlightened him. "Besides that, he keeps his
lean forefinger on the word that Brenton happens to be reading, ready
to help him out on the pronunciation, if it is necessary. Between
whiles, he counts up the congregation and divides it by ten, to make
sure that he gets the right amount of offertory. Really, he works
hard."
"You might also mention that he preaches," Olive added.
Dolph chuckled.
"I wasn't sure that's what you'd call it. It seemed to me a long way
more like administering a verbal spanking. Is that his chronic method,
Olive?"
But Reed cut in.
"I can testify on that score. Sometimes he is only tenderly regretful,
and that is any amount worse. He came prowling in, one day; I suppose
he thought it ought to be his proper function, and the maid took fright
at his canonicals and let him up. Usually she heads off strangers; but
this fellow was too much for her."
"And you let him stay?" Dolph's voice was incredulous.
"What could I do? I couldn't very well arise and escort him to the
door; neither could I fling a boot at him, when he came in. No; I told
him I was very well, I thanked him--in reality, it was one of my
grilling days--and then, as soon as I heard his accent, I had the
brilliant inspiration of shouting to the maid to bring some tea. The
creature poured it for himself, with any amount of cream. Then he sat
down, with his toes turned in, and took his cup on his right knee and
prepared to make merry."
"And you joined in?"
"_Sotto voce_, as it were." Reed laughed at the memory. "You see, I had
to be properly lugubrious, to tally up to his impressions of what I
ought to be. He had been here just a week, then, and he had me down
pat. Somebody must have coached him grandly, and he's the sort who
revels in woe and in consequent and ghostly consolation."
Olive's eyes were fixed upon the view outside the window.
"Poor old Reed! And then?"
"Then?" Opdyke shot her a glance of merry mockery. "That night, after
he had trundled me off to bed, Ramsdell stood and gazed down at me with
a new respect. 'I must say, Mr. Hopdyke,' he told me; 'you 'ave been in
grand form, hall this evening. I never 'eard you do any finer swearing
in hall the time I've been with you.'"
"And that comes of a moral influence!" Dolph laughed. "If that's the
way he is going to affect sinners, Brenton will have his hands full,
following up his curate's trail."
"Brenton is of different stuff," Reed made crispy comment.
"Have you noticed the change in Mr. Brenton since the baby came, Reed?"
Olive inquired abruptly.
"I've hardly seen him. From all accounts, he is devoting most of his
spare time to my father. What is the baby like, Olive?"
"Ugly as sin; but Mr. Brenton believes him an Adonis."
"What about the mother?"
"Eddyizing fast."
"What?" The word burst simultaneously from both the men.
"Didn't you know? Yes, it is a malignant case. I only hope it won't go
round the family."
"Babies are holy, and therefore immune; Brenton has too much sense. But
is it a fact, Olive?" Opdyke questioned.
"It evidently is a fact that you are a poor, shut-in invalid, and not
brought up to date in local gossip," Olive told him tranquilly. "I
can't see how you have missed hearing of it, Reed, even if it did
escape my mind. Yes, it seems to be a fact that everybody is
questioning and nobody is disputing. Of course, though, nobody is in a
position to testify absolutely."
"Your father?"
"She has dismissed him. At least," and Olive corrected herself with
ostentatious care; "she says that her health no longer needs him,
although she always shall value him greatly as a well-tried friend."