Then followed a page and a half on the evils of the existing system of the presentation to livings by private persons, ending with the suggestion that I had probably committed a sin in buying this particular advowson in order to increase my local authority, that is, if I had bought it, a point on which he was ignorant.  Finally he informed me that as he had to christen a sick baby five miles away on a certain moor and it was too wet for him to ride his bicycle, he must stop.  And he stopped.

There was, however, a P.S. to the letter, which ran as follows: 

“Someone told me that you were dead a few years ago, and of course it may be another man of the same name who owns Fulcombe.  If so, no doubt the Post Office will send back this letter.”

That was his only allusion to my humble self in all those diffuse pages.  It was a long while since I had received an epistle which made me laugh so much, and of course I gave him the living by return of post, and even informed him that I would increase its stipend to a sum which I considered suitable to the position.

About ten days later I received another letter from Bastin which, as a scrawl on the flap of the envelope informed me, he had carried for a week in his pocket and forgotten to post.  Except by inference it returned no thanks for my intended benefits.  What it did say, however, was that he thought it wrong of me to have settled a matter of such spiritual importance in so great a hurry, though he had observed that rich men were nearly always selfish where their time was concerned.  Moreover, he considered that I ought first to have made inquiries as to his present character and attainments, etc., etc.

To this epistle I replied by telegraph to the effect that I should as soon think of making inquiries about the character of an archangel, or that of one of his High Church saints.  This telegram, he told me afterwards, he considered unseemly and even ribald, especially as it had given great offence to the postmaster, who was one of the sidesmen in his church.

Thus it came about that I appointed the Rev. Basil Bastin to the living of Fulcombe, feeling sure that he would provide me with endless amusement and act as a moral tonic and discipline.  Also I appreciated the man’s blunt candour.  In due course he arrived, and I confess that after a few Sundays of experience I began to have doubts as to the wisdom of my choice, glad as I was to see him personally.  His sermons at once bored me, and, when they did not send me to sleep, excited in me a desire for debate.  How could he be so profoundly acquainted with mysteries before which the world had stood amazed for ages?  Was there nothing too hot or too heavy in the spiritual way for him to dismiss in a few blundering and casual words, as he might any ordinary incident of every-day life, I wondered?  Also his idea of High Church observances was not mine, or, I imagine, that of anybody else.  But I will not attempt to set it out.