The Bishop was a judge of cards. He therefore received H. R. in his study instead of the general waiting-room of which the decorative scheme consisted of "In His Name" in old English and therefore safe from perusal. It might as well have been, "Be Brief!" "How do you do, Bishop Phillipson?" And H. R. held out his hand with such an air of affectionate respect that the Bishop was sure he had confirmed this distinguished-looking young man. But the head of the diocese has to know more than theology. Therefore the Bishop answered, very politely: "I am very well, thank you." "Did you recognize the name?" modestly asked H. R. "Oh yes," said the Bishop, who recently had read about some meeting in Rutgers Square and therefore remembered Rutgers. He was a fine figure of a man with clean-cut features and a look of kindliness so subtly professional as to keep it from being indiscriminatingly benevolent; a good-natured man rather than a strong. One might imagine that he made friends easily, but none could visualize him as a Crusader. He was cursed with an orator's voice, sensitive ears, and the love of words. "Perhaps you've read the newspapers? They've been full of me and my doings these many weeks," said H. R., looking intently at the Bishop. "My dear boy!" expostulated Dr. Phillipson. "I need your help!" said H. R., very earnestly. The Bishop knew it! Those to whom you cannot give cheering words and fifty cents are the worst cases. To relieve physical suffering is far easier than to straighten out those tangles that society calls disreputable--after they get into print. H. R. went on, "I want you to help me to help our church." "Help you to help our church?" blankly repeated the Bishop. The unexpected always reduces the expectant kind to a mere echo. "Exactly!" And H. R. nodded congratulatorily. "Exactly! In order that we may stop losing ground!" There were so many ways in which this young man's words might be taken that his mission remained an exasperating mystery. But the Bishop smiled with the tolerance of undyspeptic age toward over-enthusiastic youth and said kindly: "Pardon me, but--" "Pardon _me_," interrupted H. R., "but since it is only the Roman Catholics who are growing--" "Our figures--" interjected the Bishop, firmly. "Ah yes, figures of speech. Don't apply to _our_ church. The reason is that the Catholics leave out the possessive pronoun. They never say _their_ church any more than they say _their_ God. Now, why did we build our huge Cathedral?" The Bishop stared at H. R. in astonishment. Then he answered, austerely, confining himself to the last question: "In order to glorify--"