The child laughed.
"It ith a good day," he made answer. "There ith the woof-garden and there ith ithe-cream."
"And which is the best?"
"Bofe," said the child.
"That"s right, little soldier; and what did you do in the garden?"
The child clapped his hands.
"I played," he responded; "an" I"m goin" to play ball on my legs when I mend."
One of the nurses came and stood for a moment at the foot of the bed.
"He has learned a hymn for you," she said. "He is teaching the other children to sing--aren"t you, baby?"
"Yeth."
"And you"ll sing for the father?"
The child"s mouth quivered with pleasure and his eyes gleamed. Then his gay little voice rang out in a shrill treble:
"Yeth, Jesuth lovths me, Yeth, Jesuth lovths me, Yeth, Jesuth lovths me, The Bible tells me so."
He ended with a triumphant little gasp and lay smiling at the sunshine.
A quarter of an hour later Father Algarcife returned to the street. It was Friday, and at two o"clock he was to be in the sacristy, where it was his custom to receive the members of his parish. It was the most irksome of his duties, and he fulfilled it with a repugnance that had not lessened with time. Now it represented even a greater strain than usual. He had been soothed by his visit to the hospital, and he dreaded the friction of the next few hours--the useless advice delivered, the trivialities responded to, the endless details of fashionable foibles that would be heard. He wondered, resentfully, if there were not some means by which this office might be abolished or delivered into the hands of an a.s.sistant. Then his eyes shot humor as he imagined Miss Vernish, Mrs. Ryder, or a dozen others consenting to receive spiritual instruction from a lesser priest with a snub-nose.
As he pa.s.sed a book-shop in Union Square, a man reading the posters upon the outside attracted his notice.
"Oh, I say, Mr. Algarcife!"
He stopped abruptly, recognized the speaker, and nodded.
The other went on with a heated rush of words.
"Those are fine things of yours, those sermons. I congratulate you."
"Thank you."
"Yes, they are fine. But, I say, you got the better of the _Scientific Weekly_ writer. It was good."
"I don"t know," responded Father Algarcife. "It is a good deal in the way you look at it, I suppose."
"Not at all. I am not prejudiced--not in the least--never knew anybody less so. But he isn"t your equal in controversy, by a long shot."
A sudden boyish laugh broke from Father Algarcife--a laugh wrung from him by the pressure of an overwhelming sense of humor. "I don"t think it is a question of equality," he replied, "but of points of view."
CHAPTER V
The next afternoon Ardly burst into Nevins"s studio without knocking, and paused in the centre of the floor to give dignity to his announcement.
"I have seen her," he said.
Nevins, who was stretched upon the divan, with his feet in the air and a cigarette in his mouth, rolled his eyes indolently in Ardly"s direction.
"My dear fellow," he returned, "am I to presume that the p.r.o.noun "her"
refers to an individual or to a s.e.x?"
"Don"t be an a.s.s," retorted Ardly. "I tell you I"ve seen Mariana."
Nevins turned upon his side and removed the cigarette from his lips.
"Where?" he responded, shortly.
"She was coming out of Thorley"s. She wore an acre of violets. She has a footman in livery."
"How do you know it was she?"
"Well, I"ll be d.a.m.ned! Don"t I know Mariana?"
Nevins sat up and rested his head in his hands.
"How did she look?" he asked.
"Stunning. She has an air about her--"
"Always had."
"Oh, a new kind of air; the way a woman moves when she is all silk on the wrong side."
Nevins nodded.
"Speak to you?"
"I didn"t give her a chance," returned Ardly, gloomily. "What"s the use?"
The knocker rose and fell, and Mr. Paul entered, as unaltered as if he had stepped aside while the eight years slid by.
Nevins greeted him with a slight surprise, for they had drifted different ways.
"Glad to see you," he said, hospitably; "but this is an unusual honor."
"It is unusual," admitted Mr. Paul, seating himself stiffly on the edge of the divan.