Hodder had spoken without bitterness, yet his irony was by no means lost on the lawyer.  Langmaid, if the truth be told, found himself for the moment in the unusual predicament of being at a loss, for the rector had put forward with more or less precision the very cynical view which he himself had been clever enough to evolve.

“Haven’t they the right,” he asked, somewhat lamely to demand the kind of religion they pay for?”

“Provided you don’t call it religion,” said the rector.

Langmaid smiled in spite of himself.

“See here, Hodder,” he said, “I’ve always confessed frankly that I knew little or nothing about religion.  I’ve come here this evening as your friend, without authority from anybody,” he added significantly, “to see if this thing couldn’t somehow be adjusted peaceably, for your sake as well as others’.  Come, you must admit there’s a grain of justice in the contention against you.  When I went on to Bremerton to get you I had no real reason for supposing that these views would develop.  I made a contract with you in all good faith.”

“And I with you,” answered the rector.  “Perhaps you do not realize, Langmaid, what has been the chief factor in developing these views.”

The lawyer was silent, from caution.

“I must be frank with you.  It was the discovery that Mr. Parr and others of my chief parishioners were so far from being Christians as to indulge, while they supported the Church of Christ, in operations like that of the Consolidated Tractions Company, wronging their fellow-men and condemning them to misery and hate.  And that you, as a lawyer, used your talents to make that operation possible.”

“Hold on!” cried Langmaid, now plainly agitated.  “You have no right—­you can know nothing of that affair.  You do not understand business.”

“I’m afraid,” replied the rector, sadly, “that I understand one side of it only too well.”

“The Church has no right to meddle outside of her sphere, to dictate to politics and business.”

“Her sphere,” said Holder,—­is the world.  If she does not change the world by sending out Christians into it, she would better close her doors.”

“Well, I don’t intend to quarrel with you, Holder.  I suppose it can’t be helped that we look at these things differently, and I don’t intend to enter into a defence of business.  It would take too long, and it wouldn’t help any.”  He got to his feet.  “Whatever happens, it won’t interfere with our personal friendship, even if you think me a highwayman and I think you a—­”

“A fanatic,” Holder supplied.  He had risen, too, and stood, with a smile on his face, gazing at the lawyer with an odd scrutiny.

“An idealist, I was going to say,” Langmaid answered, returning the smile, “I’ll admit that we need them in the world.  It’s only when one of them gets in the gear-box . . . .”

The rector laughed.  And thus they stood, facing each other.