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Mr Butler failed to display the hearty pleasure at this announcement that the worthy Mrs Gabbon had naturally expected. Aloud he merely said, “Indeed,” politely, but with no unusual interest. Within himself he reflected, “The deuce take Mr John Duggs! However, I want the rooms, and a man must risk something.”
“The same,” replied Mr Bunker, smiling affably. “I,” continued his visitor, advancing with more confidence, “am Mr Duggs. I am dwelling at present in the apartment immediately above you, and hearing of the arrival of a fellow-clergyman, through my worthy friend Mrs Gabbon, I have taken the liberty of calling.
Mr Duggs for a moment was evidently disposed to give battle, but thinking better of it, he contented himself with frowning at his younger opponent, and abruptly changed the subject. “May I ask what position you hold in the church, Mr Butler?” An ingenious solution suggested itself. He replied with a preliminary inquiry, “Have you ever been in the East, Mr Duggs?”
Mrs Gabbon had evidently “’eard sommat” from Mr Duggs, and treated him to little of her society. The boredom became so excessive that he decided he must make a move soon, however rash it was. The only active step he took, and indeed the only step he saw his way to take, was a call on Dr Twiddel’s locum. But luck seemed to run dead against him.
Mr Bunker suspected that he had made a slip in his biblical reminiscences, but he continued to smile imperturbably, and inquired with a perfect air of surprise, “Haven’t you read the novel I referred to?” Mr Duggs appeared a little relieved, but he answered blankly enough, “I—ah—have not. What is the book you refer to?” “Oh, don’t you know? To tell the truth, I forget the title.
He had been a little alarmed, too, by noticing that Mr Duggs’ dull eye had wandered frequently to his theological library, which with his usual foresight he had strewn conspicuously on the table, and that any expression it had was rather of suspicious curiosity than gratification. “I should like to hear some of your experiences,” Mr Duggs continued. “In what province did you work?”
All the time his ears had been alive to anything going on outside, and now he heard a cab rattle up and stop close by. It might be at Dr Twiddel’s, he thought, and, turning from his visitor, he sprang to the window. Remarking distantly, “I hear a cab; it is possibly a friend I am expecting,” Mr Duggs stepped to the other window.
I believe a bobby would have been safer after all.” He assumed the longest face he could draw, and remarked sententiously, “The weather has been unpleasantly cold of late, Mr Duggs.” He flattered himself that his guest seemed instantly more at his ease. Certainly he replied with as much cordiality as a man with such a dull eye could be supposed to display.
Where did your work lie?” “China,” replied Mr Bunker, thinking it best to keep as far abroad as possible. “Ha!” exclaimed Mr Duggs. “This is really extremely fortunate. I am at present, Mr Butler, studying the religions and customs of China at the British Museum, with a view to going out there myself very shortly.
“I regret to say I have not hitherto had the opportunity.” “Thank the Lord for that,” thought Mr Bunker. “I have been a missionary,” he said quietly, and looked dreamily into the fire. It was a happy move. Mr Duggs was visibly impressed. “Ah?” he said. “Indeed? I am much interested to learn this, Mr Butler. It—ah—gives me perhaps a somewhat different view of your—ah—opinions.
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