suicide. That was the right idea: to keep sloughing them off,
throwing overboard the unreal and factitious Gissings, paring
them down until he discovered the genuine and inalienable
creature.

And so, for the second time, he made a stealthy exit from the
employees' door.

Four days later he read in the paper of old Mr. Beagle's death.
There can be no doubt about it. The merchant died of a broken
heart.



CHAPTER TEN

Mr. Poodle's reply was disappointing. He said:--

St. Bernard's Rectory,
September 1st.

MY DEAR MR. GISSING:

I regret that I cannot conscientiously see my way to writing to
the Bishop in your behalf. Any testimonial I could compose would
be doubtful at best, for I cannot agree with you that the Church
is your true vocation. I do not believe that one who has deserted
his family, as you have, and whose record (even on the most
charitable interpretation) cannot be described as other than
eccentric, would be useful in Holy Orders. You say that your life