“Yes,” continued Barry. “A vestry should always act harmoniously, I may say unanimously. There should, however, be a strong hand to guide them. I’m inclined to stand for election to the vestry myself, next Easter. I think I could be of a good deal of service.”
“That’s a splendid idea,” assented Miss Chichester. “Barry has such excellent judgment.”
“Yes; thank you, Jane. But,” continued Barry, “I understand that the disturbance was brought on by your advocating free pews. Now, you know, Farrar, it would never do to have free pews in Christ Church.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Of course not. Just imagine who might come and sit with you. Such a fellow as Bricky Hoover, for instance, who works in our mill, and thinks he has a right to go anywhere. I tell you, Farrar, it’s impossible. Utterly impossible!”
“I’m sorry you don’t approve of it.”
“And, in a general way, don’t you know, I don’t approve of your attitude toward the laboring classes. As a prominent parishioner, a leading citizen, and as vice-president of the Malleson Manufacturing Company, I must respectfully suggest that it is—a—extremely inappropriate for the rector of Christ Church to join with the lower classes in the attack on wealth and—a—culture, and all those things, you know. I speak as a friend, Farrar. As one man of high social grade to another man of high social grade. You see?”
“I understand. I’m glad to have the opinion of any of my parishioners on my sermons or conduct.”
Barry felt that he was making a conquest; that the rector was swinging around to his views.
“You see,” he went on, flicking an imaginary speck of dust, as he spoke, from the surface of an immaculate waistcoat, “we of the upper classes are responsible for the preservation and advancement in the world, of art, literature, beauty and, I may say, of religion; and it becomes our duty——”