“Are you going out now?” he asked.  As I hesitated, he added, tactfully, “Perhaps you would let me go with you?”

Here was indeed a startling proposition!  His costume, his long hair—­there were many things about him not adapted to Broadway at five o’clock in the afternoon!  But what could I say?  It would be rude to call attention to his peculiarities.  All I could manage was to stammer:  “I thought you belonged in the church.”

“Do I?” he replied, with a puzzled look.  “I’m not sure.  I have been wondering—­am I really needed here?  And am I not more needed in the world?”

“Well,” said I, “there’s one thing certain.”  I pointed up to the window.  “That hole is conspicuous.”

“Yes, that is true.”

“And if it should rain, the altar would be ruined.  The Reverend Dr. Lettuce-Spray would be dreadfully distressed.  That altar cloth was left to the church in the will of Mrs. Elvina de Wiggs, and God knows how many thousands of dollars it cost.”

“I suppose that wouldn’t do,” said the stranger.  “Let us see if we can’t find something to put there.”

He started up the aisle, and through the chancel.  I followed, and we came into the vestry-room, and there on the wall I noticed a full length, life-sized portrait of old Algernon de Wiggs, president of the Empire National Bank, and of the Western City Chamber of Commerce.  “Let us see if he would fill the place,” said the stranger; and to my amazement he drew up a chair, and took down the huge picture, and carried it, seemingly without effort, into the church.

He stepped upon the altar, and lifted the portrait in front of the window.  How he got it to stay there I am not sure—­I was too much taken aback by the procedure to notice such details.  There the picture was; it seemed to fit the window exactly, and the effect was simply colossal.  You’d have to know old de Wiggs to appreciate it—­those round, puffy cheeks, with the afternoon sun behind them, making them shine like two enormous Jonathan apples!  Our leading banker was clad in decorous black, as always on Sunday mornings, but in one place the sun penetrated his form—­at one side of his chest.  My curiosity got the better of me; I could not restrain the question, “What is that golden light?”

Said the stranger:  “I think that is his heart.”

“But that can’t be!” I argued.  “The light is on his right side; and it seems to have an oblong shape—­exactly as if it were his wallet.”

Said the other:  “Where the treasure is, there will the heart be also.”

VI

We passed out through the arched doorway, and Broadway was before us.  I had another thrill of distress—­a vision of myself walking down this crowded street with this extraordinary looking personage.  The crowds would stare at us, the street urchins would swarm about us, until we blocked the traffic and the police ran us in!  So I thought, as we descended the steps and started; but my fear passed, for we walked and no one followed us—­hardly did anyone even turn his eyes after us.