“By the way,” suggested Mr. Newman, when the village was behind them and they were walking between high hedgerows flamboyant with summer growth.  “By the way, wasn’t there something you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Eh?  Oh yes,” replied Carrick.  “Bother!  I want you to come to my place to-night to try something—­something new, a big thing.”

“To-night?” said Mr. Newman.  “No, not to-night, Carrick.”

“Why not?” demanded Carrick.  “I tell you, it’s a big thing.  I’ve had an idea of it for some time; those clairvoyant tests put me on to it; but I’ve only just got it clear.  It’s big.”

Mr. Newman shook his head.  “Not to-night,” he said.  “You’re a queer fellow, Carrick; you never can remember what day of the week it is for more than five minutes at a time.”

“Oh!” Carrick scowled.  “You mean it’s Sunday.  But this—­I tell you, this isn’t just an ordinary thing, Newman.  I’ll explain—­it’s new and it’s big!”

“No,” said Newman.  “Not to-night, Carrick, please!”

“Hang it!” said Carrick.  He would have spoken more liberally, but the choice was between restraint in language and the loss of Mr. Newman as an acquaintance.  That had been made clear soon after their first meeting.

Mr. Newman smiled, and rested a large hand on Carrick’s arm.

“We go by different roads to our goal, Carrick,” he said, “but it is the same goal.  We serve the same Master, under different names and in different ways.  You call Him Science and I call Him Christ—­the same Master, though; and my services take me to church to-night.  But to-morrow, if you like, I will come over to your place.”

“Get back,” said Carrick violently to the dog.  “To heel, you beast!”

The fork of the road was in front of them; they paused at the division of the way.

“Will that suit you?” inquired Mr. Newman.  “I can come round after dinner.”

Carrick gave him a look in which contempt, fury, and a certainly involuntary liking were strangely at war.

“Of all the sanctimonious asses,” he said, and broke off.  “Good-night!” he concluded abruptly.

“I’ll come, then,” said Mr. Newman, smiling.  “Good-night, my dear fellow.”

He went off at his deliberate gait, humming to himself the tune of the last hymn which the children had sung at the Sunday school.  Evening was settling about him on the trees and fields; after the still heat of the sun, it was like an amen to the day, a vast low note of organ music.  There was a pond gleaming among the trees.

“He leadeth me beside the still waters,” he said aloud to himself, and then Carrick’s footsteps were audible behind him.  He turned.  Carrick came up swiftly.

“Don’t eat much dinner to-morrow night,” he said, with immense seriousness.

“It’s more hypnotism, then?” inquired Mr. Newman.

Carrick nodded.  “Yes,” he said.  “But—­it’s a big thing, all the same.”