"Meantime? Oh! I shall stick to my pills and plasters,--we have ten patients in the hospital now,--run the store and the mill, and try to help generally. If this priest gets at his work and makes good, I promise you I'll not bother him."
"And if not?" enquired French.
"If not? Well, then," said Brown, sinking back into his easy, good-natured manner, "you see, I am constitutionally indolent. I would rather he'd move out than I, and so while the colony stays here, it will be much easier for me to stay than to go. And," he added, "I shall get back my school, too."
French looked at him admiringly. Brown's lips had come together in a straight line.
"By George! I believe you," exclaimed French, "and I think I see the finish of the Polish gentleman. Can I help you out?"
"I do not know," said Brown, "but Kalman can. I want him to do some interpreting for me some of these days. By the way, where is he to-day? He is not with you."
French's face changed. "That reminds me," he said, "but I hate to unload my burden on you to-day when you have got your own."
"Do not hesitate," said Brown, with a return of his cheery manner;
"another fellow's burden helps to balance one's own. You know I am constitutionally selfish and get thinking far too much of myself,--habit of mine, bad habit."
"You go to thunder, Brown, with your various and many constitutional weaknesses. When I look at you and your work for this thankless horde I feel something of a useless brute."
"Hold up there, now, don't you abuse my parishioners. They are a perfectly good lot if left alone. They are awfully grateful, and, yes, in many ways they are a good lot."
"Yes, a jolly lot of quitters they are. They have quit you dead."
Brown winced. "Let us up on that spot, French," he said. "it is a little raw yet. What's your trouble?"
"Well," said French, "I hardly know how to begin. It is Kalman."
At once Brown was alert.
"Sick?"
"Oh! no, not he. Fit as a fiddle; but the fact is he is not doing just as well as he ought."
"How do you mean?" said Brown anxiously.
"Well, he is growing up into a big chap, you know, getting towards sixteen, and pretty much of a man in many ways, and while he is a fine, clean, straight boy and all that, he is not just what I would like."
"None of us are," said Brown quietly.
"True, as far as I am concerned," replied French. "I do not know about you. But to go on. The boy has got a fiendish temper and, on slight provocation, he is into a fight like a demon."
"With you?" said Brown.
"Oh, come," said French, "you know better than that. No, he gets with those Galicians, and then there is a row. The other week, now--well--" French was finding it difficult to get on.
"I heard about it," said Brown; "they told me the boy was half drunk, and you more." Brown's tone was not encouraging.
"You've hit it, Brown, and that's the sort of thing that makes me anxious. The boy is getting into bad ways, and I thought you might take him in hand. I cannot help him much in these matters, and you can."
French's arguments had all deserted him.
"Look here," he said at length desperately, "here is a letter which I got a few days ago. I want you to read that last page. It will show you my difficulty. It is from my sister-in-law, and, of course, her position is quite preposterous; but you know a woman finds it difficult to understand some things in a man's life. You know what I mean, but read. I think you know who she is. It was she who sent Kalman out here to save him from going wrong. God save the mark!"
Brown took the letter and read it carefully, read it a second time, and then said simply:
"That seems straight enough. That woman sees her way through things. But what's the trouble?"
"Well, of course, it is quite absurd."
"What's absurd?" asked Brown shortly. "Your responsibility?"
"Hold on, now, Brown," he said. "I do not want you to miss my point of view."
"All right, let's have it," said Brown; and French plunged at once at his main argument, adopting with great effort the judicial tone of a man determined to examine dispassionately on the data at command.
"You see, she does not know me, has not seen me for fifteen years, and I am afraid she thinks I am a kind of saint. Now, you know better," Brown nodded his assent with his eyes steadily on the other's face, "and I know better, and I am not going to play the hypocrite for any man."
"Quite right," said Brown; "she does not ask you to."
"So it is there I want you to help me out."
"Certainly," said Brown, "count on me for all I can do. But that does not touch the question so far as I can see it, even remotely."
"What do you mean?"
"It is not a question of what I am to do in the matter."
"What can I do?" cried French, losing his judicial tone. "Do you think I am going to accept the role of moral preceptor to that youth and play the hypocrite?"
"Who asks you to?" said Brown, with a touch of scorn. "Be honest in the matter."
"Oh, come now, Brown, let us not chop words. Look at the thing reasonably. I came for help and not--"
"Count on me for all the help I can give," said Brown promptly, "but let's look at your part."
