"Hum! I know he is very busy. Can you state your business?"
"Certainly not, to you, sir," said the curate, in a tone that caused the other evident surprise. He, however, crossed to a senior clerk and made a whispered communication. The elder man glanced round, and then said in a tone loud enough to reach Campion: "Oh, you had better take up his name. The governor's always willing to see a parson." The young man recrossed to the curate, and taking his card disappeared into an inner room. Presently he returned, saying, "Step this way, please."
Campion followed his conductor, and was ushered into a plainly but comfortably furnished office. He saw before him a stout, pompous-looking gentleman seated at a desk, who glanced up as his visitor entered, but hope died out of the curate's heart as he caught the look of complacency on the florid countenance.
Mr. Pearson pushed his papers on one side, and, with a pious look, said—
"Take a seat, Mr. Campion; I am always glad to see the ministers of God, although I am unusually busy just at present."
I would not willingly disturb you; I can call some other time."
"By no means, my friend. My motto has always been God's work before worldly affairs, and I judge by your garb that you come in His name."
"I trust so," said the curate; then plunging into his business, he continued: "I saw your advertisement in yesterday's Telegraph, asking for clerical or lay workers for your East-end Mission, and I thought perhaps—"
"That we could utilise your services. Indeed, we can. There is work enough for all in the Lord's vineyard. Have you an appointment in London?"
"Unfortunately, I have not at present."
"And, naturally, you do not wish to waste time that is so precious and can never be recovered. We will gladly enrol you amongst our workers. The harvest is great, but, alas! the labourers are few," said Mr. Pearson, turning his eyes upwards.
Campion paused, then said desperately: "I fear you do not quite understand me. I am anxious, most anxious, to work, but I have a wife and child to consider. What I therefore seek is employment that will afford at least some slight pecuniary return. I thought you might—"
"What?" interrupted the other, opening his eyes wide in astonishment. "What do I hear? Do you come to tell me that you wish to enter our grand cause from mercenary motives?"
"Certainly not, sir, but surely 'the workman is worthy of his hire.'"
"'What do I hear?'"
"Alas! that holy text is too often made an excuse for avariciousness," said the other, raising his hand deprecatingly. "But let us not bandy words. If I give my services, surely I have a right to expect others to do the same."
"Truly, sir, but you are wealthy, you can afford it. If you had a wife and child wanting the bare necessaries of life, would you then be willing to do so?"
"I see," said Pearson, raising his eyebrows superciliously. "I quite misunderstood you. I did not think you were one of those unscrupulous individuals who don the garb of a clergyman as an excuse for begging."
