Clearing his throat violently, he summoned all his strength, and the great voice broke out like a silver trumpet: "Throw out the life line across the dark wave, There is a brother whom someone should save; Somebody's brother! Oh, who, then, will dare To throw out the life line, his peril to share?" Thump! thump came the unmistakable sound of an angry boot on the wall. "Shut up!" cried an exasperated voice. "Shut up, you darned gospel shark!" Pippin stopped dead; his eyes blazed; molten flames coursed through his veins. He darted out of his own door and grasped the handle of the next one. It was locked, but that meant nothing to Pippin the Kid. One dexterous turn of Mrs. Baxter's hairpin (a dandy tool for light work, sure!) and the door flew open. Mr. Joseph Johnson was a stonemason, and worked hard all day. He needed his sleep, and was not of mystic or dramatic temperament; it was, therefore, perhaps hardly strange that he was annoyed by vehement-tuneful demands for a life line at nine o'clock o' night. At all events, he was just bending forward to deliver another thump on the wall when, as has been said, the door flew open, and to him entered a lightly clad bronze statue, its arm outstretched, its eyes darting flames. "Say!" cried the statue; "who are you that can't hear the Lord praised a spell? Who are you to stop a man in the middle of his song? Darn your hide! If you can't sing yourself, be thankful other folks can; you hear me? Have you said your prayers to-night? You never! Down you go!" Mr. Johnson found himself suddenly on his knees, the statue, kneeling also, holding him tightly by the shirt collar. A short, sharp injunction was issued to Deity. "O Lord, you make this man behave; he don't know how, no way, shape, or manner. Amen! "_Now!_" Pippin rose, towering seven feet high, Mr. Johnson told the scandalized landlady next day. "Let me hear another word out of you!" Mr. Johnson remaining discreetly silent, Pippin, after glaring at him a minute, dropped his fiery crest. "Good-night, brother!" he said meekly. "I'm sorry if I spoke harsh. Pleasant dreams to you!" CHAPTER XX THE PERPLEXITIES OF PIPPIN "I don't know _what_ to do with Mary!" said Mrs. Aymer. "I am really distracted about her, Larry. I don't think she's _fit_ to go with you to-morrow, yet I don't believe anything can stop her." "She certainly looks ill." The chaplain glanced thoughtfully toward the pantry door, as if he expected to see through it. "Have you had any talk with her, Lucy?"