“I’ll try to explain.  As a man of affairs, I think you will admit, if you reflect, that the return of St. John’s, considering the large amount of money invested, is scarcely worth considering.  And I am surprised that as astute a man as Mr. Pair has not been able to see this long ago.  If we clear all the cobwebs away, what is the real function of this church as at present constituted?  Why this heavy expenditure to maintain religious services for a handful of people?  Is it not, when we come down to facts, an increasingly futile effort to bring the influences of religion—­of superstition, if you will—­to bear on the so-called lower classes in order that they may remain contented with their lot, with that station and condition in the world where—­it is argued—­it has pleased God to call them?  If that were not so, in my opinion there are very few of the privileged classes who would invest a dollar in the Church.  And the proof of it is that the moment a clergyman raises his voice to proclaim the true message of Christianity they are up in arms with the cry of socialism.  They have the sense to see that their privileges are immediately threatened.

“Looking at it from the financial side, it would be cheaper for them to close up their churches.  It is a mere waste of time and money, because the influence on their less fortunate brethren in a worldly sense has dwindled to nothing.  Few of the poor come near their churches in these days.  The profitable fable is almost played out.”

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.”