meet you. I understand that something like ten thousand applicants are refused admittance to his church every Sunday. He'll have to build two or three new churches at least. The bell again—the cry is still they come.’
Meanwhile the vicar and the Nubian were conversing with animation.
‘No, sir, no good to be a missionary any more,’ said the negro; ‘gospel’s knocked on the head. Universal free secular education has scuttled Christianity.’
‘Therefore you must go and preach a new gospel, Mr Babtweak,’ replied the vicar. ‘You see for yourself that the old one’s played out; where’s the good of sticking to the sinking ship? The gospel of woman’s priesthood is the gospel of the future; go and preach that. There’s your ex-diocesan, Dr Fairfax, with my niece on the other side of the room, come and hear what his opinion is. He’s a man without prejudices; and if what he says does not convince you, I will give you a note of introduction to Mr Aluminium Mountjoy, when you return to town.’
But before they could cross to Lesbia’s group, she had gone to meet the late arrival.
‘Oh, Mr Guineabush,’ she said, ‘here you are at last! we’d almost given you up. But where’s your wife?’
‘Somewhere astern,’ he replied; ‘she’s fussing people still about that old parrot.’
‘What—have you lost him?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so; we can’t find him anywhere. It was the hunt after him that made us so late in starting.’
‘Well, I’m sorry too, for my own sake as well as yours. Not only was he associated in my recollection with dear Goss, who you see is flourishing, and might take a prize, I should think, but also the old parrot reminded me of a memorable conversation, heard long ago, between two bargees at Poplar’s Weir. The men and their language
