ing he didn't like John. "What does it?" and the Elder-undertaker stared fiercely at the book agent.
"Nailing Jesus to the Cross," replied John, shooting a glance at Burbeck that was hard and beamlike.
"Hey!" exclaimed Burbeck, his red face reddening more.
"But," explained the Secretary, interjecting himself anxiously, as a man not too proud of his duty that day, "it is in the interests of peace. We expect to give time a chance to heal the wounds. In six months the disturbing element will have gone away or given up, and then we can open the doors to peace and the old faith."
"Oh, I see," said John, as instinctively liking the Missionary Secretary as he instinctively disliked Brother Burbeck, "it is a movement in behalf of the status quo?"
"Yes," replied the Secretary, smiling faintly, as he noticed the shaft of humor in John's eye.
"And Brother Burbeck?" John twitched his chin in the direction of the tipsy silk hat and the vehemently swinging hammer. "He is the apostle of the status quo?"
"Yes," assented the Missionary, smiling yet more faintly, after which he countered with: "Are you a Christian, my brother?"
"I was a Deacon in the First Church, Los Angeles," answered John, "but I've been traveling round for a year or so. Hampstead's my name."
The Secretary's face lighted with unexpected pleasure.
"How do you do, Brother Hampstead," he exclaimed, putting out his hand quickly. "My name's Harding."
"Glad to meet you, Brother Harding," said John; "I've seen your name in the church papers."
"Brother Burbeck, this is Brother Hampstead, of the First Church, Los Angeles," announced Harding, when that gentleman, having driven his last nail and smashed
