"That's _fine_," said Sam, in an ecstasy of enjoyment. "Why, Father, the whole thing grows like a snowball! It _must_ grow." "Didn't I tell you, six months ago?" said Mr. Hamlyn. "Look at us then and now! What were we then? Nothing, 'ardly. What are we now? Directors of a big concern, becoming known all over Hengland, drawing good salaries, and with all the pleasure of bossing a big show. Look at the printing account the works have against the League, look at our expenses when we've got thirty or more Luther lecturers all over the country! And yet there's nothing risky in it. Nothing at all. No bogus-company promoting, no snide article to sell. We've no limited-liability company act to fear, no treasury investigations. We stand upon solid rock and nobody can't touch us! And why? Because we are championing the freedom of the people's religion, we are fighting for glorious Protestantism!" "Fancy no one thinking of it before!" said Sam. Mr. Hamlyn's shrewd, able face beamed with merriment. "Providence," he said, "chooses its own instruments. Now, then, send me in the shorthand clerk; I shall be at work all day. To-night I address a public meeting in the 'Olborn Town Hall, and before ten I'm due to sup with Miss Pritchett. She wants something definite done in St. Elwyn's, and I must think out a slap in the face for Blantyre." "I'll run round to the bank," said Sam, "and pay this morning's little lot into the general fund, and post the statement to the treasurer." "Right, my son. What was it?" "Seventeen pounds odd, Pa." "Protestants are waking up," said Mr. Hamlyn, "our work for the Cause has a blessing upon it." CHAPTER VIII A PRIVATE CONFERENCE AT MIDNIGHT A YEAR LATER It was late at night in Father Blantyre's study at Hornham. King and Stephens had gone to bed, but the vicar sat with Dr. Hibbert, his churchwarden. Both men were smoking. By the side of the doctor stood a modest peg of whiskey; the priest contented himself with a glass of soda-water. The candles by which the room was lighted showed that Mr. Blantyre's face was very worn and weary. He seemed a man who was passing through a time of stress and storm. The bronzed countenance of the doctor wore its usual aspect of serenity and strength. Both men had been talking together earnestly for a great part of the night. A true and intimate friendship obtained between them, and it was a plan that fortnightly they should meet thus and make confidences to each other about that which they held so dear. "It is just a year," Blantyre said, "since Hamlyn committed his first sacrilege in our own church."