“The weather kept the people away I suppose,” said Morton.

“Does that gentleman generally draw large congregations?” asked the persistent Senator.

“We don’t go in for drawing congregations here.”  Under the cross-examination of his guest the Secretary of Legation almost lost his diplomatic good temper.  “We have a church in every parish for those who choose to attend it”

“And very few do choose,” said the Senator.  “I can’t say that they’re wrong.”  There seemed at the moment to be no necessity to carry the disagreeable conversation any further as they had now reached the house.  Mrs. Morton immediately went up-stairs, and the two gentlemen took themselves to the fire in the so-called library, which room was being used as more commodious than the big drawing-room.  Mr. Gotobed placed himself on the rug with his back to the fire and immediately reverted to the Church.  “That gentleman is paid by tithes I suppose.”

“He’s not the rector.  He’s a curate.”

“Ah;—­just so.  He looked like a curate.  Doesn’t the rector do anything?”

Then Morton, who was by this time heartily sick of explaining, explained the unfortunate state of Mr. Puttock’s health, and the conversation was carried on till gradually the Senator learned that Mr. Puttock received 800 pounds a year and a house for doing nothing, and that he paid his deputy 100 pounds a year with the use of a pony.  “And how long will that be allowed to go on, Mr. Morton?” asked the Senator.

To all these inquiries Morton found himself compelled not only to answer, but to answer the truth.  Any prevarication or attempt at mystification fell to the ground at once under the Senator’s tremendous powers of inquiry.  It had been going on for four years, and would probably go on now till Mr. Puttock died.  “A man of his age with the asthma may live for twenty years,” said the Senator who had already learned that Mr. Puttock was only fifty.  Then he ascertained that Mr. Puttock had not been presented to, or selected for the living on account of any peculiar fitness;—­but that he had been a fellow of Rufford at Oxford till he was forty-five, when he had thought it well to marry and take a living.  “But he must have been asthmatic then?” said the Senator.

“He may have had all the ailments endured by the human race for anything I know,” said the unhappy host.

“And for anything the bishop cared as far as I can see,” said the Senator.  “Well now, I guess, that couldn’t occur in our country.  A minister may turn out badly with us as well as with you.  But we don’t appoint a man without inquiry as to his fitness,—­and if a man can’t do his duty he has to give way to some one who can.  If the sick man took the small portion of the stipend and the working man the larger, would not better justice be done, and the people better served?”

“Mr. Puttock has a freehold in the parish.”