"And I ought to add," said he, "that the first suggestion of such a Committee came from the ladies of my congregation. The only credit I can claim is for a certain obstinacy in resisting those who would have confined the effort to our Society. . . . Most happily I managed to prevail—and it was none the easier because I happen just now to be a little out of odour with some of the more influential members of what I suppose must be termed my 'flock.'"
"Yes: I heard that your sermon last Sunday had caused a scandal. What was it you said? That, in a breakdown of Christianity like the present, we might leave talk of the public-houses and usefully consider Sunday closing of churches and chapels—or something of the sort."
"Was it in that form the report reached you?" the Minister asked with entire gravity. "There is an epigrammatist abroad in Polpier, and I have never been able to trace him—or her. But it is the truth—and it may well have leaked out in my discourse—that I feel our services to have lost their point and our ministrations their savour. . . . I—I beg your pardon," he corrected himself: "I should have said 'my ministrations.'"
"Not at all. . . . Do you suppose I have not been feeling with you— that all our business has suddenly turned flat, stale, unprofitable?"
"It is a natural discouragement. . . . Let us own it to none until we have found our hearts again. I see now that even that hint of it in my sermon was a momentary lapse of loyalty. Meanwhile I clutch on this proposal of yours. It will give us all what we most want—a sense of being useful."
The Vicar stepped back a pace and eyed him. Then, on an impulse—
"Hambly," he said, "you have to hear Confession. I am going to tell you something I have kept secret even from my wife. . . . I have written to the Bishop asking his permission to volunteer for service."
"May God bring you safely back, my friend! If I were younger. . . .
And the Army will want chaplains."
"But I am not offering myself as a chaplain."
"How, then?"