“Why, how do you do, Mr. Letgood?” said the Deacon cordially. “I'm glad to see you, sir, as you are too, I'm sartin,” he added, turning to his wife and putting his arms round her waist and his lips to her cheek in an affectionate caress. “Take a seat, won't you? It's too hot to stand.” As Mrs. Hooper sank down beside him on the sofa and their visitor drew over a chair, he went on, taking up again the broken thread of his thought. “No one thinks more of you than Isabelle. She said only last Sunday there warn't such a preacher as you west of the Mississippi River. How's that for high, eh?”--And then, still seeking back like a dog on a lost scent, he added, looking from his wife to the clergyman, as if recalled to a sense of the actualities of the situation by a certain constraint in their manner, “But what's that I heard about Chicago? There ain't nothin' fresh--Is there?” “Oh,” replied Mrs. Hooper, with a look of remonstrance thrown sideways at her admirer, while with a woman's quick decision she at once cut the knot, “I guess there is something fresh. Mr. Letgood, just think of it, has had a 'call' from the Second Baptist Church in Chicago, and it's ten thousand dollars a year. Now who's right about his preachin'? And he ain't goin' to accept it. He's goin' to stay right here. At least,” she added coyly, “he said he'd refuse it--didn't you?” The Deacon stared from one to the other as Mr. Letgood, with a forced half-laugh which came from a dry throat, answered: “That would be going perhaps a little too far. I said,” he went on, catching a coldness in the glance of the brown eyes, “I wished to refuse it. But of course I shall have to consider the matter thoroughly--and seek for guidance.” “Wall,” said the Deacon in amazement, “ef that don't beat everythin'. I guess nobody would refuse an offer like that. _Ten thousand dollars a year!_ Ten thousand. Why, that's twice what you're gettin' here. You can't refuse that. I know you wouldn't ef you war' a son of mine--as you might be. Ten thousand. No, sir. An' the Second Baptist Church in Chicago is the first; it's the best, the richest, the largest. There ain't no sort of comparison between it and the First. No, sir! There ain't none. Why, James P. Willis, him as was here and heard you--that's how it came about, that's how!--he's the senior Deacon of it, an' I guess he can count dollars with any man this side of New York. Yes, sir, with any man west of the Alleghany Mountains.” The breathless excitement of the good Deacon changed gradually as he realized that his hearers were not in sympathy with him, and his speech became almost solemn in its impressiveness as he continued. “See here! This ain't a thing to waste. Ten thousand dollars a year to start with, an' the best church in Chicago, you can't expect to do better than that. Though you're young still, when the chance comes, it should be gripped.”