Dick soon secured a buggy, and drove off. _En
route_ he whistled gaily, and at intervals burst into song. He
really felt absurdly gay.
The 'Bishop,' however, pulled a long face when he understood what was
demanded of him. "It's too late," said he.
"Do you funk it?" asked Dick angrily.
"I do," replied his reverence.
"Well, he must be told the facts before he goes south."
Dick little knew, as he spoke so authoritatively, that his father was
already in possession of these facts. Within an hour of Dick's
departure, Mr. Carteret was walking through the old mission church,
chatting with my brother Ajax. From Ajax he learned that at San
Clemente, not twenty miles away, was another mission of greater
historical interest and in finer preservation than any north of Santa
Barbara. Ajax added that there was an excellent hotel at San Clemente,
kept by two Englishmen, Cartwright and Crisp. Of course the name Crisp
tickled the parson's curiosity, and he asked if this Crisp were any
relation to the late Tudor Crisp, who had once lived in or near San
Lorenzo. My brother said promptly that these Crisps were one and the
same, and was not to be budged from that assertion by the most violent
exclamations on the part of the stranger.
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