But the ‘Bishop’ declined this invitation, and betook himself to his blankets, muttering inarticulate nothings.  Dick relighted his pipe, and refilled his glass.  Then he walked to the mantelshelf and gazed long and critically at three framed photographs of his father and two sisters.  These were almost the only property he possessed.  It is significant from an ethical point of view that Dick kept these pictures where he could see them.  The ‘Bishop’ had photos also, but they lay snug at the bottom of an old portmanteau.  His reverence was sensible that he was not worthy to keep company with even the pictures of honourable and respectable persons.  No such qualms affected Dick.  He regarded these photos as credentials.  His father had a charming face—­one of those human documents whereon are inscribed honour, culture, benevolence, and the wisdom that is not of this world.  The sisters, too, had comely features; and strangers introduced to the family group always felt more kindly disposed to the prodigal so far from such nice people.  Dick had impetrated more than one loan, using these portraits as collateral security.  Did his heart soften as he bade them farewell?  Who can tell?

* * * * *

Within six weeks the Rev. Tudor Crisp received a cheque from distant Dorset, and the proceeds were duly invested in a saloon in San Clemente, a town some twenty miles from San Lorenzo.  Moreover, the business prospered from the start.  The partners, Crisp and Cartwright (Dick deemed it wise to alter his name), kept no assistants, so there was no leakage from the till.  They understood that this liquor traffic was a shameful trade, but they pronounced themselves unable to follow any other.  Curiously enough the work proved a tonic to the ‘Bishop.’  He allowed himself so many drinks a day, and observed faithfully other rules to his physical and financial betterment.  He started a reading-room in connection with the bar, for he had had experience in such matters when a curate at home; and the illustrated papers sent regularly by his maiden aunt were in great demand.  Indeed, the mere reading about football matches and the like created an unquenchable thirst in cowboys and sheep-herders.  Moreover the ‘Bishop’ enforced order and decorum, being a muscular Christian, and the boys learned to curb obscene tongues in his presence.  Dick marvelled at the change in his partner, but he was shrewd enough to see that it brought grist to the gin-mill.

“Once a parson, always a parson,” Dick would say; and the Rev. Tudor would blush and sigh.  He never spoke of his clerical days, but once Dick caught him furtively examining a picture of himself in surplice and cassock.  Each week a division of the profits was made.  The ‘Bishop’s’ share was deposited in the local bank, but where Dick’s dollars went it would be indiscreet to tell.  He had no stomach for economies, and observed no rules.  When he apprehended the general drift of things he