"I should like to see Father McGowan," he said.  "I will only need a few moments of his time," he added on seeing the people waiting. 

 "Set down," ordered Mrs. Fry.  "You'll have to wait yer turn."  The man smiled. He was faintly amused.  "I hardly think so," he said; "I am Doctor Van Dorn. My time is rather valuable. I can hardly waste it in that way." 

 "It's his rule," said Mrs. Fry, nodding her head toward the rear of the hall.  "All who waits is the same. Yuh waits yer turn, or yuh goes. He don't care."  She had fixed her eyes above the man's head with all her words. He looked on her, frowning deeply, then said with an unconcealed irritation showing in his voice: "Will you at least take him my card?" 

 Mrs. Fry nodded. She held out a palm that looked damp, then went down the hall, reading the card as she walked.  "He needn't be so smart," she made mental comment. "Here he ain't no better than none of the rest."  She went toward the table at which Father McGowan sat and shoved the card toward him.  "He wants to see yuh right off, now," she said. 

 Father McGowan picked up the card, read it, and then laid it aside.  "Tell him the rules," he said shortly. He turned back to a page of pink letter paper, with a daisy engraved on its top. He glanced from it to the clock. He still had twenty minutes before work began. 

 "Dearest Father McGowan, dear:" was written on the pink sheet. It was crossed out and below it was written, "Respected Father:—(I meant the first, but I suppose this is properer.)  I can't tell you how happy you made me by the play and everything. I have put the pink ribbon in a chemise where it looks decorative, and cheers me up, as I like pink ribbons in underwear, although white are better taste. I am much happier. I am not always happy, but do not tell Papa, nor any one that I am not. I am much happier than I was. 

 "I apologise for clinging to you and kissing your hand good-bye when you left, but I am not sorry. It was very hard to let you go. Pink roses seemed all thorns just then." 

 Father McGowan stopped reading. He looked across the room with far eyes. They were surrounded by fat wrinkles, and made small by thick lenses, but they were rather beautiful. 

 "I wanted to do as you suggested and try another school," he read, "but I somehow feel that I must finish what I've started, and I would like to show these girls that my soul is not 

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