"He's had plenty of air," retorted Mrs. Lewknor with the curt brutality that distinguished her on rare occasions. "What he wants is something more solid than he gets from the pulpit." The Archdeacon eyed her _de-haut-en-bas_. From his undergraduate days he had believed implicitly in the power of his eye to master and demoralize his enemies and those of his Church, and the Lady Augusta Willcocks had loyally fostered his belief. Now, however, his antagonist refused to be demoralized. He saw that she was a lady, suspected that she might be "somebody," and with that fine flair for the things of this world which characterize the successful of his profession, he retired on gaitered legs with a somewhat theatrical dignity. Ernie was helped to his feet. A car, coming slowly down the hill, ground to a halt. Mr. Trupp leaned out and took in the scene. "Ernie, get up alongside your brother, will you?" he said. "Mrs. Lewknor!" The car rolled on its way with its two new occupants. "He don't want me," muttered Mr. Trupp in his companion's ear. "He wants my cook." Mrs. Lewknor, still seething, recorded the incident. "The Church is the limit," she snapped. "I could have pushed that man over in the mud." "Yes," said Mr. Trupp soothingly. "But you mustn't take the Church too seriously. The right way to look on it is as rather a bad joke." That evening, after his coffee, Mr. Trupp laid down his evening paper and stared long into the fire as his manner was. His wife and daughter waited for the word that was slowly brewing. It came in time. "Men grow when they've got to," he announced at last with humorous sententiousness. "They can't grow much without food," said Bess with warmth. The incident of the afternoon had stirred her generous young soul to the deeps. "It's monstrous!" "It is," her father agreed. "And it's all because Civilization has thrown up a class that's above the Discipline it imposes upon others." Mrs. Trupp eyed her husband sternly. "William Trupp!" she said, "I believe you're a Socialist." "My dear," he answered, "I've been told that before." "Bess and I don't want to hear your viewy views," continued the lady. "We want to talk about flesh-and-blood Ernie and how to help him." "Hear! hear!" said Bess. "My dears," replied the annoying man, "it's just Ernie I'm talking about. He's growing again. My old friend Necessity's at work on him once more." CHAPTER XLIX ALF MARKS TIME The scene outside the parish-church in Old Town, when Mrs. Lewknor challenged the Archdeacon, marked the turn in Ernie's material fortunes. The Reverend Spink handed on his version of the affair to Mr. Pigott at the Relief Committee that evening. "He was laying on his face in the road _dead_ drunk opposite the church-door when his brother picked him up," he reported, round-eyed and spectacled. "His poor, _poor_ people!" "Ah," said Mr. Pigott, "was he?--I know where you got that story from."