When she was out of the room the professor turned to his uncle and said:  “Seriously, Uncle William, I wish you knew Stephen Hazard.  He is a pleasant fellow in or out of the pulpit, and would amuse you.  If you and Esther will come to tea some afternoon at my rooms, I will get Hazard and Wharton and Aunt Sarah there to meet you.”

“Will he preach at me?” asked Mr. Dudley.

“Never in his life,” replied the professor warmly.  “He is the most rational, unaffected parson in the world.  He likes fun as much as you or any other man, and is interested in every thing.”

“I will come if Esther will let me,” said Mr. Dudley.  “What have you to say about it, Esther?”

“I don’t think it would hurt you, father.  George’s building has an elevator.”

“I didn’t mean that, you watch-dog.  I meant to ask whether you wanted to go to George’s tea party?”

“I should like it of all things.  Mr. Hazard won’t hurt me, and I always like to meet Mr. Wharton.”

“Then I will ask both of them this evening for some day next week or the week after, and will let you know,” said George.

“Is he easily shocked?” asked Mr. Dudley.  “Am I to do the old-school Puritan with him, or what?”

“Stephen Hazard,” replied the professor, “is as much a man of the world as you or I. He is only thirty-five; we were at college together, took our degrees together, went abroad at the same time, and to the same German university.  He had then more money than I, and traveled longer, went to the East, studied a little of every thing, lived some time in Paris, where he discovered Wharton, and at last some few years ago came home to take a church at Cincinnati, where he made himself a power.  I thought he made a mistake in leaving there to come to St. John’s, and wrote him so.  I thought if he came here he would find that he had no regular community to deal with but just an Arab horde, and that it was nonsense to talk of saving the souls of New Yorkers who have no souls to be saved.  But he thought it his duty to take the offer.  Aunt Sarah hit it right when she called him a Christian martyr in the amphitheater.  At college, we used to call him St. Stephen.  He had this same idea that the church was every thing, and that every thing belonged to the church.  When I told him that he was a common nuisance, and that I had to work for him like a church-warden, he laughed as though it were a joke, and seriously told me it was all right, and he didn’t mind my skepticism at all.  I know he was laughing at me this morning, when he made me go to church for the first time in ten years to hear that sermon which not twenty people there understood.”

“One always has to pay for one’s friend’s hobbies,” said Mr. Dudley.  “I am glad he has had a success.  If we keep a church we ought to do it in the best style.  What will you give me for my pew?”

“I never sat in a worse,” growled Strong.