“I, also,” he said, “want to thank you for your conscientious courage, and for your sympathy with these disappointed people. I’ve been waiting to condole with Mrs. Bradley myself, although I am a stranger to her.”
“You’ll find her pretty bitter.”
“So much the more need for sympathy.”
“Yes, it won’t come amiss. She’s been hard hit, and it isn’t right.”
“I believe you. That’s one of the problems that you and I, together with the rest of the American people, have got to thresh out sooner or later: how to right social wrongs without creating social calamities.”
“Well, I think you’re giving us some pretty good advice along that line. I’ve been once or twice to hear you preach lately, and it seems to me you’re on the right track.”
“I hope so. Come again.”
“Thank you! I intend to.”
The man went on down the aisle, and the rector walked back toward Mrs. Bradley. She had, in the meantime, been busying herself about her husband, buttoning his coat, putting his hat on his head, making him ready for the desolate journey home. The clergyman approached her.
“I am Mr. Farrar,” he said, “rector of Christ Church.”