Far from despising or hating Brandon, he liked him immensely--and he was on his way utterly to destroy him.
Then, as he approached nearer the centre of his drama, he noticed, as he had often noticed before, how strangely everything played into his hands. Without undue presumption it seemed that so soon as he determined that something ought to occur and began to work in a certain direction, God also decided that it was wise and pushed everything into its right place. This consciousness of Divine partnership gave Ronder a sense that his opponents were the merest pawns in a game whose issue was already decided.
Poor things, they were helpless indeed! This only added to his kindly feelings towards them, his sense of humour, too, was deeply stirred by their own unawareness of their fate--and he always liked any one who stirred his sense of humour.
Never before had he known everything to play so immediately into his hands as in this present case. Brandon, for instance, had just that stupid obstinacy that was required, the town had just that ignorance of the outer world and cleaving to old traditions. And now, how strange that the boy Falk had on several occasions stopped to speak to him and had at last asked whether he might come and see him!
How lucky that Brandon should be making this mistake about the Pybus St. Anthony living!
Finally, although he was completely frank with himself and knew that he was working, first and last, for his own future comfort, it did seem to him that he was also doing real benefit to the town. The times were changing. Men of Brandon's type were anachronistic; the town had been under Brandon's domination too long. New life was coming--a new world--a new civilisation.
Ronder, although no one believed less in Utopias than he, did believe in the Zeitgeist--simply for comfort's sake if for no stronger reason. Well, the Zeitgeist was descending upon Polchester, and Ronder was its agent. Progress? No, Ronder did not believe in Progress. But in the House of Life there are many rooms; once and again the furniture is changed.
One afternoon early in May he was suddenly aware that everything was moving more swiftly upon its appointed course than he, sharp though he was, had been aware. Crossing the Cathedral Green he encountered Dr. Puddifoot. He knew that the Doctor had at first disliked him but was quickly coming over to his side and was beginning to consider him as "broad-minded for a parson and knowing a lot more about life than you would suppose." He saw precisely into Puddifoot's brain and watched the thoughts dart to and fro as though they had been so many goldfish in a glass bowl. He also liked Puddifoot for himself; he always liked stout, big, red-faced men; they were easier to deal with than the thin severe ones. He knew that the time would very shortly arrive when Puddifoot would tell him one of his improper stories. That would sanctify the friendship.
"Ha! Canon!" said Puddifoot, puffing like a seal. "Jolly day!"
They stood and talked, then, as they were both going into the town, they turned and walked towards the Arden Gate. Puddifoot talked about his health; like many doctors he was very timid about himself and eager to reassure himself in public. "How are you, Canon? But I needn't ask-- looking splendid. I'm all right myself--never felt better really. Just a twinge of rheumatics last night, but it's nothing. Must expect something at my age, you know--getting on for seventy."