Mr. Constable sat down, breathing hard.  He had not looked at the rector during the whole of his speech, nor at Eldon Parr.  There was a heavy silence, and then Philip Goodrich rose, square, clean-cut, aggressive.

“I, too, gentlemen, have had life-long association with this church,” he began deliberately.  “And for Mr. Hodder’s sake I am going to give you a little of my personal history, because I think it typical of thousands of men of my age all over this country.  It was nobody’s fault, perhaps, that I was taught that the Christian religion depended on a certain series of nature miracles and a chain of historical events, and when I went East to school I had more of this same sort of instruction.  I have never, perhaps, been overburdened with intellect, but the time arrived nevertheless when I began to think for myself.  Some of the older boys went once, I remember, to the rector of the school—­a dear old man—­and frankly stated our troubles.  To use a modern expression, he stood pat on everything.  I do not say it was a consciously criminal act, he probably saw no way out himself.  At any rate, he made us all agnostics at one stroke.

“What I learned in college of science and history and philosophy merely confirmed me in my agnosticism.  As a complete system for the making of atheists and materialists, I commend the education which I received.  If there is any man here who believes religion to be an essential factor in life, I ask him to think of his children or grandchildren before he comes forward to the support of Mr. Constable.

“In that sermon which he preached last Sunday, Mr. Hodder, for the first time in my life, made Christianity intelligible to me.  I want him to know it.  And there are other men and women in that congregation who feel as I do.  Gentlemen, there is nothing I would not give to have had Christianity put before me in that simple and inspiring way when I was a boy.  And in my opinion St. John’s is more fortunate to-day than it ever has been in its existence.  Mr. Hodder should have an unanimous testimonial of appreciation from this vestry for his courage.  And if the vote requesting him to resign prevails, I venture to predict that there is not a man on this vestry who will not live to regret it.”

Phil Goodrich glared at Eldon Parr, who remained unmoved.

“Permit me to add,” he said, “that this controversy, in other respects than doctrine, is more befitting to the Middle Ages than to the twentieth century, when this Church and other denominations are passing resolutions in their national conventions with a view to unity and freedom of belief.”

Mr. Langmaid, Mr. Plimpton, and Mr. Constable sat still.  Mr. Ferguson made no move.  It was Gordon Atterbury who rushed into the breach, and proved that the extremists are allies of doubtful value.