If a visible emotion of pleasure ever entered into Dirty Fingers' face, it was when the little missioner came occasionally to see him.

It was then that his tongue let itself loose, and until late at night they talked of many things of which other men knew but little.

This morning Father Layonne did not come casually, but determinedly on business, and when Dirty Fingers learned what that business was, he shook his head disconsolately, folded his fat arms more tightly over his stomach, and stated the sheer impossibility of his going to see Kent.

It was not his custom.

People must come to him.
And he did not like to walk.