Chapter VII

Reggie twice went past the motionless figure that sat in the aisle, without recognizing him. And the third time he remembered.

He had been promoted now to the position of church-sweeper, and was intensely proud of it; for his sole companion was a friar. He had asked for the privilege more than once, but the Father Guardian had explained evasively to the very trim-looking clerk what a dusty business it was; and it was not until Reggie had exhibited a really extraordinarily regular punctuality in his other duties that he had been allowed at last to take off his coat in the sacristy, turn up his trousers and his sleeves, gird himself with a baize apron, and on Monday and Thursday mornings, from seven to half -past, first to throw down tea-leaves in the south aisle, and then (noiselessly, as mass was being said at the high altar) to sweep them up again.

On this Thursday morning, then, twice he passed Mr. Main, perceiving only that he was in the dress of a cleric, and never connecting him for an instant with the bleak-faced curate whom he had observed drinking tea once or twice in the drawing-room of Percy's home. Then his mind roused itself; and, as the priest left the altar, he remembered that this must be Mr. Main. But what in the world was the curate doing in the Franciscan church? He became interested; he placed himself, near the font, sweeping with vigour, and, as the clergyman came past, went up to him.

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99 Mr. Main, isn't it? - he whispered shyly. - I'm Bal-lard— Reggie Ballard."

Mr. Main looked at him blankly.

" Er... yes... of course " he began, obviously at a loss.

" We met at Hanstead — Percy Smith — don't you remember? I'm Reggie Ballard."

Then Mr. Main advanced a lean-fingered hand.

"I remember," he said. "And how do you do, Mr. Ballard?"

" I'm just sweeping up for the friars," explained Reggie eagerly. " That's Brother John the other side — I... I didn't know "

He hesitated.

" Yes," said Mr. Main. u I'm looking round. I... I understood that this was the church where May I speak to you a moment somewhere?"

Reggie eagerly assented; and led the way round into the sacristy, genuflecting with immense particularity and with such unexpectedness that the curate stumbled violently against him, and followed murmuring apologies.

The priest, as they entered, was just folding up his amice.

" May I speak to my friend here, father? " asked Reggie, consumed with excitement, and with delight too at showing his entire familiarity with these holy men.

The friar smiled pleasantly.

"Why certainly," he said; and went out, with a small inclination to the clergyman as he passed. Mr. Main's eyes wandered vaguely round the great bare well-used room, with its countless inexplicable articles — the long low cupboards on which lay piles of strange garments, each in a group by itself; the tall pine-wood presses; the little

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S3S sink and basin; the pair of censers hanging over a smoke-blackened gas-brazier; the roller-towel by the basin. It all looked so very shabby, and yet so well used and so exceedingly businesslike — not in the least resembling the bright and spotless vestry at Hanstead, with the Glastonbury chair, the neat writing materials, the register of services, and the rows of starched white surplices.

" I... I am glad I met you 99 he began.

" Sit down, sir," said Reggie, beaming, and drawing out a couple of wooden kitchen chairs from their places against the wall.

" I... I wanted to ask about Percy/' said the clergyman, after another wandering glance round the big room. " Is... is he received into the Roman Church yet, do you know? "

Reggie's face fell a little. He had hoped that here was an Enquirer.

" Not yet," he said.

" I understood from him that this was the church where... where he first heard a sermon, that... that "

Reggie made haste to interpret his hesitation.

"Yes," he said, "he came here with me. He's under instruction here, you know."

"Yes... I... I understood that. There is a... a monk here, is there not, who 99

" Father Hilary — yes " said Reggie eagerly. " I introduced them, you know — but he's not a monk, he's a—"

"What name, if you please "

" Father Hilary," said the boy.

Mr. Main nodded with compressed lips, and let his melancholy eyes rest a moment on Reggie's face.

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"You're up here very early, sir/' said Reggie, still tremulous with expectation.

"I am spending a couple of days up here/' said the clergyman slowly. " I'm going back to Hanstead this morning — a little business, you know. That's all."

Reggie waited.

"Have you heard lately from... from our friend?" asked the other presently.

Reggie made an effort to be loyal.

" I went to a theatre with him a few days ago," he said.

"And... and he's happy?"

Reggie, to tell the truth, had found himself, since his visit to the theatre, becoming more and more aware that Percy was disappointing him. They had been very intimate friends indeed in the City. And there was not the slightest doubt that they were no longer so intimate. It seemed more and more odd to Reggie, to take a single example, that Percy had not said a word more as to the week-end idea. In imagination, he had taken it for granted — and at Percy's word too— that he would go, as soon as the Brandreth-Smiths had settled in, or even before. At the same time he felt himself rather ungrateful for not having better appreciated Percy's taking him to the play.

" Oh, he's happy, I think. Of course he's got a lot to do, you know, down in the country."

" I meant, rather, about religion," said the curate.

Reggie made haste to reassure him.

" Oh, yes," he said, " so far as I know. Yes, entirely, of course."

Mr. Main's eyes wandered again round the sacristy. " And you, too? " he said suddenly, turning to him again. " You're a convert, I think? " Reggie drew a long breath.

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• 1... I cant tell you how happy/* ne said. " It's... it's impossible "

Mr. Main nodded gently, again, three or four times.

"It's... it's perfectly gorgeous," went on the boy, rapturously, for his religion was to him, indeed, the passion of his life, and the one subject on which he could be eloquent. It was, not yet, very deep, perhaps; it manifested itself, largely (as has been said), in small exterior matters such as his private altar at home, the brown habits of the friars, the dusty incense-laden smell of the church; it inspired with a strange romance even such servile tasks as throwing down tea-leaves in the aisles and sweeping them up again. But it was entirely genuine; it formed the material out of which all his day-dreams were woven; his supreme ambition was, of course, to be a friar — an ambition suspended, however, so far as he could see, by the very explicit orders of his confessor to take no kind of practical action in the matter so long as his mother at Wimbledon was in the least dependent on him. But this check made him all the more zealous; meanwhile he could do menial tasks, and get up an hour and a half earlier than he need on Mondays and Thursdays, and draw little pictures of hooded heads on his blotting-paper when he was not writing down uninteresting facts about ships on their way from Australia to the Port of London.

But his eloquence was spasmodic. He made little gestures: he said how "ripping" the friars were, and how " gorgeous " the ceremonial was. And Mr. Main looked at him, and away again, and back again.

Then the door opened.

"Why— here is " began Reggie, rising. "Good morning, father. — This is Father Hilary, Mr. Main."

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Reggie was much too agitated and excited to observe intelligently the meeting of these two. But it seemed to him afterwards that the manner, at any rate of the curate, had been curiously significant.

Mr. Main was on his feet nearly as soon as Reggie, and seemed to have an odd air as of terror and defiance — so far as his almost expressionless face could manifest such emotions. He stood stiffly, and bowed as stiffly, in return to the friar's salute.

" Er — this is Mr. Main/* explained Reggie. " Father Placid said I might see him in here. I..."

" Quite right," said the friar gently. " But I shall have to disturb you, I'm afraid, in a minute or two. I'm saying the eight o'clock mass, you know."

He looked apologetically towards the clergyman, who remained as if petrified.

" I only looked in " continued the friar, making a movement towards the door.

" I.. • I must be going," said Mr. Main suddenly and harshly, wheeling round on Reggie.

" Oh! but I'm sorry," explained the friar. " Take your friend through into one of the parlours," he went on, turning to the clerk.

"No; no," cried the clergyman abruptly. "I... I must go."

He pushed forward a hand towards Reggie, stiffly and awkwardly, and then let it fall again: and Reggie saw how he turned once more to the friar and stared on him.

It was not until later that Reggie realized the extraordinary contrast between these two figures. The one might have stepped straight out of an illuminated manu-

Digitized by Google script; the other could have stepped from nowhere except from a London street of the twentieth century. The one had a kind of perfect suitability about him — (Reggie was always bewildered when he met Father Hilary sometimes in secular clothes) — the folds of his heavy habit, his cord, his thrown-back hood, his radiant bearded face and brighteyes — all, from the effect of sheer simplicity, made a picture of a perfect art. And the other, handicapped of course by his singularly unattractive face, was rendered as hopelessly conventional as can be imagined, by his black overcoat, his loose trousers, his flattish creased boots, and his silk hat that he held still in his left hand. These two, then, faced one another — the friar still and passive, so to speak, the clergyman no longer defiant but tensely attentive and observant.

There was a tiny awkward silence.

Father Hilary broke it.

" I am glad to have met you, Mr. Main," he said. Then he wheeled and slipped out.

Reggie heard his companion emit a long breath like a sigh, and, looking quickly at him, saw an expression on his face that he could not interpret at all. He hastened to interpose.

" Well, I'll see you out through the house," he said, " if you really must go, Mr. Main. I've got to be going too, really." *

He could see that something was the matter. He was not at all clever, but so much he did understand. He was still puzzled as to why Mr. Main was here at all; but he supposed it must have originally been that he was curious to see the place where Percy had first come across Catholicism. And he thought it to be a rather delicate and ex-

Digitized by Google citing compliment to his religion that the clergyman should have been thrown into such agitation through an encounter with a friar.

When he had hung up his baize apron and was putting on his coat, he tried again to make things easy. The clergyman was still standing motionless, looking once more vaguely round the unfamiliar sacristy.

" I have to catch the train at High Street/' said the boy. " Perhaps you're coming my way."

Mr. Main appeared to wake out of a kind of trance.

"And where do you get your breakfast?" he asked solemnly.

" Down in the City," said the boy — " on Mondays and Thursdays. You see it's too early " And he explained that he could not expect breakfast at six o'clock in Wimbledon.

" You're going my way? " he asked again.

" No; no," said the curate decisively. " I... I must go and get my bag."

Reggie was completely puzzled as he went down Citywards.

The clergyman had said no more, until they parted at the friary door. He had nodded absentmindedly as the boy had led him through the house, pointing out such objects of interest as the plaster statue in the corridor, a brown mantle hanging on a peg, and the little barred peephole in the door whence visitors could be observed by the porter.

Then, on the steps outside, he had suddenly laid his long fingers on the boy's blue overcoat.

" Father Hilary was the name — you said? " "Yes— Father Hilary."

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The clergyman removed his fingers briskly.

" Well — I'm glad to have met you/' he said — " Mr. — er — Mr. Ballard, perhaps you will do me the favour of not mentioning that you met me here "

" Oh! certainly not," agreed Reggie hastily, yet suddenly taken aback.

" You — you see it might cause misunderstandings. — Well: good-bye, Mr. Ballard, good-bye to you."

Obviously, then, Mr. Main too must have that delightful and exciting sensation of having done something rather wrong in entering a Catholic church; for Reggie was still young enough to enjoy the sinister reputation of his religion. And it seemed to him now, as he rattled towards the Mansion House, wholly agreeable that this should be so, and, especially, when an Anglican clergyman was so affected.

Yet why had Mr. Main come to the church at all, and at such an hour? Was the motive of curiosity really sufficient? And yet any other motive appeared to Reggie as simply inconceivable, when regarded in the light of cold commonsense — especially the idea (which had first occurred to him in the excitement of the encounter in church) that perhaps Mr. Main himself might be an Enquirer. For what in the world could there be in common between religions of which the picturesque friar was the symbol on one side, and the stiff conventionality of this clergyman on the other? One would as soon expect the Bishop of London to turn Mormon, as Mr. Main to turn Catholic.

It must be just curiosity after all, then, Reggie decided, as he climbed the steps up to the street level — curiosity and a sudden impulse to seek an uncharacteristic adventure.

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