The visitor bowed gravely and sat down.

"You've come to see me about--?"

"Your subscription to the East End Church Club Fund."

"I am heartily in sympathy with the splendid work your church is doing
in the--er--less salubrious parts of our city," said Dr. Surtaine.

"Doubtless," returned the young clergyman dryly.

"Seems to be saving his wind," thought Dr. Surtaine, a little uneasily.
"I suppose it's a question," he continued, aloud, "of the disposition of
the sum--"

"No: it is not."

If this bald statement required elucidation or expansion, its proponent
didn't seem to realize the fact. He contemplated with minute scrutiny a
fly which at that moment was alighting (in about the proportion of the
great American eagle) upon the pained countenance of Old Lame-Boy.

"Well?" queried the other, adding to himself, "What the devil ails the
man!"

The scrutinized fly rose, after the manner of its kind, and (now reduced
to normal scale) touched lightly in its exploratory tour upon Dr.
Surtaine's domed forehead. Following it thus far, the visitor's gaze
rested. Dr. Surtaine brushed off the insect. He could not brush off the