“How do you do, Brother Fox!” boomed the deep voice of Mr. Means. “And is this the fortunate young man who has been called to this delightful little town?”
“Yes, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. McGowan, this is the Reverend Mr. Means from New York City.”
The studied dignity of the visiting clergyman seemed to receive a decided shock as he rolled up out of his chair. He stood before the candidate to whom the Elder had introduced him and forgot to look at the ceiling. He had been caught off his guard, and through the momentary look of recognition there flitted across his flabby features an expression that was far from ecclesiastical. But 36 it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the Reverend Mr. Means was once more his complacent unperturbed self.
“Ho! So this is our candidate? So!” he exploded. “I am glad, Mr. McGowan, to shake your hand, and perhaps we’d better do it now, for we might not so desire when the grilling is over. So!” He laughed vociferously at his rude joke, and offered his fish-like palm.
“I’m glad to see you again,” lied the candidate, cheerfully.
“Again?” echoed the man, his mirth suddenly controlled by well-feigned astonishment. “Again?”
“Have you so soon forgotten how strongly you opposed me last year when I was up before the New York Presbytery for ordination?”
“So? Really so? Ah! Yes. I do remember, now that you call it to mind. That probably accounts for the familiarity of your face. But I did not oppose you for personal reasons, I assure you. It was because of your radical theological beliefs. I do not allow 37 personal reasons to enter into my religious activities.”
“But why should you have personal reasons for not wishing to see me ordained?”
“Just so! Just so! I did not mean to say I had any. But, as you doubtless remember, my brethren overruled my objections, and although I greatly regret the theological laxity of our Presbytery, I am willing to abide by the decision of the majority. So!”