He had the air, now, of the man who finds himself disagreeably and unexpectedly closeted with a lunatic; and his language, although he sought to control it, became even a trifle less coherent. “You must make allowances for us business men, Mr. Hodder. I mean, of course, we're sometimes a little lax in our duties--in the summer, that is. Don't shoot the pianist, he's doing his--ahem! You know the story. “By the way, I hear great things of you; I'm told it's on the cards that you're to be made a bishop.” “Oh,” answered the rector, “there are better men mentioned than I!” “I want you to know this,” said his vestryman, as he seized Hodder's hand, “much as we value you here, bitterly as we should hate to lose you, none of us, I am sure, would stand in the way of such a deserved advancement.” “Thank you, Mr. Plimpton,” said the rector. Mr. Plimpton watched the vigorous form striding through the great chamber until it disappeared. Then he seized his hat and made his way as rapidly as possible through the crowds to the Parr Building. At the entrance of the open-air roof garden of the Eyrie he ran into Nelson Langmaid. “You're the very man I'm after,” said Mr. Plimpton, breathlessly. “I stopped in your office, and they said you'd gone up.” “What's the matter, Wallis?” inquired the lawyer, tranquilly. “You look as if you'd lost a couple of bonds.” “I've just seen Hodder, and he is going to do it.” “Do what?” “Sit down here, at this table in the corner, and I'll tell you.” For a practical man, it must be admitted that Mr. Plimpton had very little of the concrete to relate. And it appeared on cross-examination by Mr. Langmaid, who ate his cold meat and salad with an exasperating and undiminished appetite--that the only definite thing the rector had said was that he didn't intend to preach socialism. This was reassuring. “Reassuring!” exclaimed Mr. Plimpton, whose customary noonday hunger was lacking, “I wish you could have heard him say it!” “The wicked,” remarked the lawyer, “flee when no man pursueth. Don't shoot the pianist!” Langmaid set down his beer, and threw back his head and laughed. “If I were the Reverend Mr. Hodder, after such an exhibition as you gave, I should immediately have suspected the pianist of something, and I should have gone off by myself and racked my brains and tried to discover what it was. He's a clever man, and if he hasn't got a list of Dalton Street property now he'll have one by to-morrow, and the story of some of your transactions with Tom Beatty and the City Council.”