"Yes, I've just been reading about it in the morning

papers."

"So have I. That's what I came for: to see what we're going to do about it."

"Do? What can we do? They have him beaten. He may as well admit it—and take his medicine."

"Well, I don't know about that. It struck me we might get up a petition."

"To whom?"

"To the bishop. They say the whole thing is up to the bishop now."

"Who would sign it?"

"Why, I thought you might get all those people on Factory Hill that go there to church, and I could scuttle around among his friends in the city——"

She interrupted him impatiently.

"That would be worse than useless," she said. "Do you think, for one moment, that your bishop of the Church would listen to the cry of the poor as against the demand of the rich? It's preposterous!"

"Well, I know the bishop. He's a pretty good fellow. I've had him out in my car. I might go to him personally and explain matters."

She smiled at that. But she said nothing in derogation of Barry's influence.

"You are one man against fifty of your own class," she remarked. "You could do nothing. It would be a waste of time and money to visit the bishop."

"But, I say, we mustn't let Farrar get knocked out like that, and not do a thing to help him."

"I don't know. I don't know but it would be a mercy to him to withhold all help and encouragement. The end would come sooner. The struggle would not be so prolonged. The aggregate amount of pain he will suffer will be less."

Barry looked at her with uncomprehending eyes.

"Eh?" he said. "I don't quite get you."

"Why, they're bound to destroy him. They'll do it.