The Resurrection of Father Brown
priest, as if he had been entering church; and bowed with a curve that in so corpulent a gentleman seemed quite improbable. He was always exceedingly serious in his social gestures, especially towards religious institutions. He was one of those laymen who are much more ecclesiastical than ecclesiastics. It embarrassed Father Brown a good deal, especially when carried thus into private life.
“I think I am anti-clerical,” Father Brown would say with a faint smile, “but there wouldn’t be half so much clericalism if they would only leave things to the clerics.”
“Why, Mr. Mendoza,” exclaimed the journalist with a new animation, “I think we have met before. Weren’t you at the Trade Congress in Mexico last year?”
The heavy eyelids of Mr. Mendoza showed a flutter of recognition, and he smiled in his slow way. “I remember.”
“Pretty big business done there in an hour or two,” said Snaith with relish. “Made a good deal of difference to you, too, I guess.”
“I have been very fortunate,” said Mendoza modestly.
“Don’t you believe it!” cried the enthusiastic Snaith. “Good fortune comes to the people who know when to catch hold; and you caught hold good and sure. But I hope I’m not interrupting your business?”
