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Updated: June 18, 2025
Now I don't quite know what'll happen, but in case anything does happen which prevents my going on at Gertie, I want you to come and do what you can. Parham-Carter will write to you if necessary. I haven't heard a word about them since August. I know nothing particular can have happened, because I always look at the papers but I should like to know what's going on generally.
And yet, somehow, not only had he not made them, but it was obvious and evident when he regarded them that they could not possibly be made. Mr. Parham-Carter leaned on the gate a full five minutes considering all this. But he arrived at no conclusion. The Rector of Merefield was returning from a short pastoral visitation towards the close of an afternoon at the beginning of November.
"I ..." he began. "I'm a strong Churchman, sir," said the Major. "And even if I were not, one must set an example, you know. I may be narrow-minded, but I'm particular about all that sort of thing. I shall be with you on Sunday." He nodded reassuringly at Mr. Parham-Carter. "Well, we have morning prayer at ten-thirty next Sunday, and the Holy Eucharist at eleven and, of course, at eight."
Parham-Carter came back quickly into the room and shut the door. "Yes; he's at the factory," he said. "Or at any rate he's not at home. And they don't expect him back till late." "Well?" "There's something up. The girl's gone, too. The electric train slowed down and stopped at the Hammersmith terminus, and there was the usual rush for the doors. "Come on, Gertie," said a young man, "here we are."
"May I speak to you a minute?" said the strange young man, dropping the "sir." "I'll walk with you as far as the clergy-house if you'll let me." When they were out of earshot of the house Frank began. "You're Parham-Carter, aren't you?" he said. "Of Hales'." The other nodded. "Well, will you give me your word not to tell a soul I'm here, and I'll tell you who I am? You've forgotten me, I see.
"Do then? What do you mean?" "When you stood up Did you say anything?..." Frank looked at him bewildered. "I don't know what you're talking about." Mr. Parham-Carter did not quite know what he had meant himself.
Then, cap in hand, he pushed open the swing-doors and ran straight into Mr. Parham-Carter. "Hullo!" said that clergyman and went a little white. "Hullo!" said Frank; and then: "What's the matter?" "Where are you going?" "I'm going back to the jam factory." "May I walk with you?" "Certainly, if you don't mind my eating as I go along."
Parham-Carter informed me himself there was being impressed upon him during this interview a very curious sensation, which he was hardly able, even after consideration, to put into words a sensation concerning the personality and presence of this young man which he could only describe as making him feel "beastly queer."
From below up the stairs came a sudden draught, and the flame leaped in the lamp-chimney. And then, once more unrestrained, rose up the wailing of 'Erb. A little after dawn on that Christmas morning Mr. Parham-Carter sat solitary in the kitchen.
They had talked about Frank practically without ceasing, since Dick's man had set coffee on the table at nine o'clock, and both had learned new facts. "Well, then, wire to go down to this man, Parham-Carter," said Dick, "the first thing after breakfast to-morrow. Do you know anything about the Eton Mission?" "No. One used to have a collection for it each half, you know, in the houses."
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