“What’s the use of thinking such things, Dr. Ramsdell? All you have to remember is that I am going to make some money for you; and that I paid 65⅛ for the stock I bought.” “You really think——” “Have no fears, Doctor. You understand, of course, that it is well not to give such matters undue publicity.” “Of course, of course,” assented the doctor. “I understand.” But he did not. “Nothing more, Doctor?” “No; I thank you very much, Brother Shaw. I—er—most sincerely hope my—ah—your—I should say—ah—our investment, may result in—ah—favorably for our Bolivian Missionary Fund. Thanks very much.” “Don’t mention it, Doctor. And don’t you worry. We will come out O.K. You’ll hear from me in a week or two. Good-morning.” The reverend doctor went across the Street to the office of one of his parishioners, Walter H. Cranston, a stock broker. Mr. Cranston was bemoaning the appalling lack of business and making up his mind about certain Delphic advice he contemplated giving his timid customers, in order to make them “trade,” which would mean commissions, when Dr. Ramsdell’s card was brought. “Confound him, what does he want to come around, bothering a man at his business for?” he thought. But he said: “Show him in, William.” “Good-morning, Brother Cranston.” “Why, good-morning, Dr. Ramsdell. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” “I’ve called to see you about our Missionary Fund. You know I take a great deal of interest in it. We desire to build a chapel in Bolivia, where the light is needed, Brother Cranston, as much as in China, I assure you. And it is so much nearer home.” “Doctor, I really—” began Cranston, with an injured air. “I want your valuable autograph to head the subscription list,” said the clergyman with an air he endeavored to make arch and playful. “Don’t refuse me.” “Why don’t you try some well-known person?” said Cranston, modestly. “To tell you the truth, Brother Cranston, I did try Silas Shaw.” And he added, hastily, “Not but that you are sufficiently well-known for my purpose.” “What did the old ras—the Old Man say?” “He said he never signed subscription lists.” “Didn’t he give you anything at all?” “Oh, yes; he—er—he did something for me.” The doctor’s face assumed a portentous air. Cranston’s eyes brightened. “What was that?” he said. “Well,” said the clergyman, hesitatingly, “he said we would come out O.K. Those are his own words, Brother Cranston.” “Yes?” Cranston’s face did not look promising for Bolivian enlightenment. “Yes. He—er—told me he would make the stock market contribute to the fund.” “Indeed!” Cranston showed a lively interest. “Yes. I suppose since you are in the same business, there is no harm in telling you that he bought some stock for me. Five hundred shares, it was. Do you think, Brother Cranston, that that—er—that will mean much? You see, I have the fund very close to my heart; that is why I ask.” “It depends,” said Cranston, very carelessly, “upon what stock he bought for you.”