T was an Octoberish October afternoon, raw and damp and dirty. Sadie Bell, daughter of old Peter, the oil millionaire, elevated her pretty, pert face in the air, and made uncomplimentary remarks about England in general and Endswell in particular, as she walked down the dreary main street, accompanied by the Hon. Tom Varing and the superintendent of police. She was staying at Lord Endswell's country house, just outside Endswell. Some of her diamonds had been stolen the night before; hence her excursion into the town, and some disposition to criticise it.
“It doesn't even look wicked,” she complained; “only nasty.”
“Ah!” said the superintendent. “You ought to go down some of those alleys—or rather you ought not. There's no one can venture there alone, except Parson Smith.”
Miss Sadie turned to the Hon. Tom. They did not share their parents' desire for a matrimonial alliance between them; but they were on good terms.
“Your friend the madman,” she remarked.
“He advised Miss Bell to sell her jewellery for the benefit of the poor,” the Hon. Tom explained, with a grin.
“Ah!” said the superintendent. “He carries things rather far. Still,—talk of parsons!”
He jerked his head toward a man who had just come out of a narrow passage on the other side of the road, and was striding along parallel with them—a very tall young fellow, who seemed to have obtained an unfair share of arms and legs, and to be somewhat embarrassed with them. He had red hair, and a long nose, and a mouth that looked as if it shut more easily than it opened. There was a permanent scar on his forehead, and a temporary swelling on his cheek, and his knuckles were cut and swollen. His clerical attire was somewhat disordered, and his coat was dabbed with mud.
“Why!” cried Miss Sadie, “he looks as if he had been fighting!”
The superintendent laughed. “It's his way of preaching,” he stated. “The only way that some of them understand. They call him 'Scrapping Smith,' and I'm told that it's pretty to see him handle a man. It seems to do them good, anyhow. I've had ten per cent. less convictions this last year, since he came.”
“Ask him about it,” Miss Sadie commanded, as Parson Smith slanted across the road to their side, without heeding the mud; and the superintendent cut him off.
“Been having a little trouble, sir?” he asked. It was noticeable that he addressed Parson Smith with deference. For the superintendent was an independent man.
“It was only Joe Siggers,” the parson apologised. “You see, he took the pledge last week, and I heard that he was going to the 'True Briton' this afternoon.”
“Ah!” said the superintendent. “From his wife, I suppose?”
“The information reached me,” said the parson evasively. “Fortunately, I arrived there just before poor Joe. I had some difficulty in persuading him to abandon his foolish intention; but in the end my arguments prevailed.”
Miss Sadie laughed. “Your arguments seem to have suffered in the process,” she suggested. She pointed to his bruised hands; and he blushed.
“I daresay it seems a strange way to you,” he confessed; “but I warned him before he took the pledge that I should hold him to it. You don't know what it means to the wife and children when the man drinks. Yes, it came to a fight. It often does.” He sighed. “I wish I could reach them some other way; but I use the best weapons that I have. I am a poor preacher, unfortunately, and I fear I am also lacking in tact. They are a queer flock; but there are some rough diamonds among them.”
“And some polished ones!” cried Miss Sadie. “Mine!”
Parson Smith shook his head sadly. “I fear so!—I fear so! I thought I had persuaded him to give up that sort of thing, but”
“You know the thief?” she interrupted quickly.
“I understand that it is 'Sober Jones.'” He glanced at the superintendent; and the superintendent nodded. “It is a blow to me. I had great hopes of Jones—great hopes. He is an abstemious man, and a kind husband and father. Circumstances led him into evil courses; but he seemed penitent, and his wife joined her influence to mine; she is a worthy woman—very worthy. I really thought but it seems that he couldn't get work, and the children were hungry, and—I am grieved about it—deeply grieved.”
“I am obliged by your sympathy.” Miss Sadie tossed her pretty head slightly.
“I was thinking of him and his family,” the parson said gravely. “I do not suppose it matters so much to you.”
She tossed her head more than slightly. “You are on the side of the thieves and drunkards,” she challenged him.
He faced her quietly and unflinchingly. “On the side of the sinners, yes! On the side of the sin, no!”