"You may be right, but I can't seem to understand," said Will, respectfully. "But then my ideas, and ideals, are usually in opposition to yours; you are always positive that you are right, and I am equally certain that I am right; we are father and son, why do we always differ?"
"You are young, I am old; the world changes," replied the parson, shortly.
"But other men of your age have changed with the world."
"My son, while I do not live wholly in the past, I must cling to the customs and beliefs of my youth."
"But the stage, father," persisted Will, with an earnestness that was strange for him, "in regard to that the ideas of most men have changed, and no one has been harmed; in fact, have we not been benefited?"
"No," replied the parson, "no one ever has, or ever will, receive good from it." He had little respect for the opinion of his son, rebelled at what he considered his disrespectful argument, and was determined not to budge from the stand which he had taken.
"This performance that the club is to give," continued Will, "can do no harm, you must grant that, and the ladies who are to take part are of unquestioned character."
"True, in regard to the ladies, more's the pity; but the play, my son, professional or amateur, is wrong. As for the club itself, and all organizations of women outside of the church, I am not sure but that they are an unfortunate experiment—sowers of discord and discontent." The parson was unmistakably angry.
"Do you really believe that women should not be permitted to organize, to enjoy the companionship of others, outside of the home, after the manner of men? Do you believe that their ideals should be fixed, and no opportunity given to heighten and beautify them?" Will asked these questions with deliberation and without raising his voice, yet there were unmistakable signs of a controlled force that would have been impossible in a man who did not love a woman. The parson glared at his son for a moment before replying. "I repeat, it is an experiment—an experiment," he growled as he left the table and went to his study. Narrow was the way of this man, his creed was his religion; he loved his books more than he loved men; in name only was he a minister of God.
"I'm sorry, mother," said Will when the study door was closed. "Are you going to resign?"