To carry on the figure, Philip Goodrich might have been deemed her first officer.  He, at least, was not appalled, but grimly conscious of the greatness of the task to which they had set their hands.  The sudden transformation of conservative St. John’s was no more amazing than that of the son of a family which had never been without influence in the community.  But that influence had always been conservative.  And Phil Goodrich had hitherto taken but a listless interest in the church of his fathers.  Fortune had smiled upon him, trusts had come to him unsought.  He had inherited the family talent for the law, the freedom to practise when and where he chose.  His love of active sport had led him into many vacations, when he tramped through marsh and thicket after game, and at five and forty there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his hard body.  In spite of his plain speaking, an overwhelming popularity at college had followed him to his native place, and no organization, sporting or serious, was formed in the city that the question was not asked, “What does Goodrich think about it?”

His whole-souled enlistment in the cause of what was regarded as radical religion became, therefore, the subject of amazed comment in the many clubs he now neglected.  The “squabble” in St. John’s, as it was generally referred to, had been aired in the press, but such was the magic in a name made without conscious effort that Phil Goodrich’s participation in the struggle had a palpably disarming effect:  and there were not a few men who commonly spent their Sunday mornings behind plate-glass windows, surrounded by newspapers, as well as some in the athletic club (whose contests Mr. Goodrich sometimes refereed) who went to St. John’s out of curiosity and who waited, afterwards, for an interview with Phil or the rector.  The remark of one of these was typical of others.  He had never taken much stock in religion, but if Goodrich went in for it he thought he’d go and look it over.

Scarcely a day passed that Phil did not drop in at the parish house....  And he set himself, with all the vigour of an unsquandered manhood, to help Hodder to solve the multitude of new problems by which they were beset.

A free church was a magnificent ideal, but how was it to be carried on without an Eldon Parr, a Ferguson, a Constable, a Mrs. Larrabbee, or a Gore who would make up the deficit at the end of the year?  Could weekly contributions, on the envelope system, be relied upon, provided the people continued to come and fill the pews of absent and outraged parishioners?  The music was the most expensive in the city, although Mr. Taylor, the organist, had come to the rector and offered to cut his salary in half, and to leave that in abeyance until the finances could be adjusted.  And his example had been followed by some of the high-paid men in the choir.  Others had offered to sing without pay.  And there were the expenses of the parish house, an alarming sum now Eldon Parr had withdrawn:  the salaries of the assistants.  Hodder, who had saved a certain sum in past years, would take nothing for the present . . . .  Asa Waring and Phil Goodrich borrowed on their own responsibility . . .