“We haven’t capitalised sunsets yet, but we have hopes,” he laughed.
“Then there’s still a commercial opportunity,” she lightly returned. “I feel quite friendly to money, but it’s so intimate here. I’ve heard nothing else since I came, on Monday.”
“Even in church,” he chuckled. “You delivered a reckless shock to the Reverend Smith Boyd’s vestry.”
“Well?” she demanded. “Didn’t he ask my opinion?”
“I don’t think he’ll make the mistake again,” and Allison took the corner into the Avenue at a speed which made Gail, unused to bare inches of leeway, class Allison as a demon driver. The tall traffic policeman around whose upraised arm they had circled smiled a frank tribute to her beauty, and she felt relieved. She had cherished some feeling that they should be arrested.
“However, even a church must discuss money,” went on Allison, as if he had just decided a problem to which he had given weighty thought.
“Fifty millions isn’t mere money,” retorted Gail; “it’s criminal wealth. If no man can make a million dollars honestly, how can a church?”
Allison swerved out into the centre of the Avenue and passed a red limousine before he answered. He had noticed that everybody in the street stared into his car, and it flattered him immensely to have so pretty a girl with him.
“The wealth of Market Square Church is natural and normal,” he explained. “It arises partly from the increase in value of property which was donated when practically worthless. Judicious investment is responsible for the balance.”
“Oh, bother!” and Gail glanced at him impatiently. “Your natural impulse is to defend wealth because it is wealth; but you know that Market Square Church never should have had a surplus to invest. The money should have been spent in charity. Why are they saving it?”