“No-o, not that exactly. But Mr. Fox thinks it would be a good time to show all the people that Mr. McGowan is orthodox. There will be ministers here from everywhere. 33 The Reverend Mr. Means is coming out from New York.”
“If they’re all like that feller, they’ll be a hot lot.”
“Josiah Pott! Haven’t you any respect for the cloth?”
“Not for the kind he wears, I ain’t. I’d say his cloth is a sort of sheep’s clothing, same as the Bible speaks of.”
“If you can’t talk decent I sha’n’t stay,” said Mrs. Beaver. She bridled past him, and on into her own yard.
What Mrs. Beaver had said concerning plans for the installation service was true. Elder Fox was carrying the full responsibility, for he wished to make this meeting one long to be remembered. He selected with great care those who were to sit on the council. The Reverend Mr. Means had been chosen for two reasons, first that he was a personal friend of the Elder, and second because his presence would add dignity to the occasion. It was even arranged that the city clergyman should be made moderator.
The eventful day arrived, and with it dignitaries 34 of city and countryside. It was a fearfully hot humid day in July, one of those days when to move about was torment, and to work was torture. Not a breath of air stirred. The clergymen were plainly enervated as they descended from the various vehicles which had conveyed them over from Little River. The Reverend Mr. Means mopped his face as the chauffeur assisted him from the Elder’s limousine. He greeted every one with deep sonorous tones. His manner was graciously condescending, but never once familiar. He made his way up the steps of the chapel with what was evidently meant for a majestic stride, but his heavy frame turned it into a decided waddle. He shook hands with a chosen few, all the while looking far above their heads as though his vision were not of this world.
The Captain watched the clergyman till he had disappeared behind the vestibule doors, and then remarked to Mrs. Beaver, “Them kind ain’t hard to sight. I could sight that feller a mile in the offin’, on a dark night, with my eyes shut! If Mack McGowan was that 35 kind, he’d get to stay here about twenty-four hours, and then he’d smell fire and brimstone.”
Mrs. Beaver surprised the seaman with a wry smile and vigorous nod.
Mr. McGowan arrived in due season under tow of the Elder. Mr. Fox led him before the clergyman from the city, who was lounging near an open window in the front of the auditorium.