"One moment, please," the cashier interposed. "We will not detain you long, but my friend here has a proposition to make you. He is about to build a large church on the Heights, and he is anxious to secure a preacher who entertains the views you have expressed so well. May I ask you, sir, if you are free to undertake such a charge?" The young man's face blushed red with gratified amazement. "A church?--and on the Heights?" he stammered. "Yes," went on Mr. Wattles, "a large church--very large. I don't suppose you would be sorry to give up this sort of thing." He made a motion of his head toward the dray. "Would that be necessary?" the young man asked. "Naturally," rejoined the other. "The two could scarcely be combined." "In that case," said the preacher, "I am not free." "The salary, I should have told you, will be twenty thousand dollars." "You ought to get a first-rate man for that amount," replied the preacher. "I should advise you to consult the Bishop." "Thank you," said Mr. Wattles, "and good-night." "Wattles," cried Mr. Clatfield, who had heard the conversation with stupefied astonishment which deprived him of the power of speech; "Wattles, I have not the slightest idea of building a church either on the Heights or anywhere else." "No," said Mr. Wattles, "I suppose not." "I'm going home," announced the banker. "All right," agreed the other. "We'll strike through here to Main Street." At Main Street they were detained for several minutes at the corner where the trolleys cross, by the crowds waiting for the cars or flocking about the transfer agent like so many sheep for salt. They seemed a dull, bedraggled lot to Mr. Clatfield, just like every other lot who waited every night there for blue or red or yellow trolley cars. But the cashier's eyes went wandering from face to face, more in selection than in search, and presently he nudged his companion to call attention to a couple who stood apart a little from the rest under the shelter of a small, inadequate umbrella. "What of them?" asked the banker crossly. "You need not look far to see a fellow and a girl." The fellow in this case was tall and stoutly built, and the fact that he wore no overcoat might have been set down to strenuous habits. But as Mr. Wattles noted, he was the only man without an evening paper, and he wore his derby hat reversed in order that a worn place on the rim might be less conspicuous. "I'll bet that young man is terribly hard up," remarked Mr. Wattles. "You don't want me to adopt him, do you?" demanded Mr. Clatfield. "Oh, no, but just see how his shoulder is getting soaked with drippings from the wet umbrella." "That's the girl's fault," said Mr. Clatfield. "I guess he wishes she were home."