“No thought of your interests, you mean,” put in the son.
“With these others it is different,” went on Mr. Wone, oblivious of the interruption. “It would be a real help to me if the more educated people of the place came out definitely on my side. They ought to do it. They know what this Romer is. They are thinking men. They must see that what the country wants is a real representative of the people.”
“What the country wants is a little more honesty and a little less hypocrisy,” remarked the son.
“It is abominable, this suppression of our Social Meeting. You have heard about that, I suppose?” pursued the candidate.
“Putting an end to your appeals to Providence, eh?” said Philip, pressing the earth down round the roots of a brilliant flower.
“I forbid you to talk like that,” cried his father. “I might at least expect that you would do something for me. You have done nothing, since my campaign opened, but make these silly remarks.”
“Why don’t you pray about it?” jeered the irrepressible young man. “Mr Romer has not suppressed prayer, has he, as well as Political Prayer-Meetings?”
“They were not political!” protested the aggrieved parent. “They were profoundly religious. What you young people do not seem to realize nowadays is that the soul of this country is still God-fearing and religious-minded. I should myself have no hope at all for the success of this election, if I were not sure that God was intending to make His hand felt.”
“Why don’t you canvass God, then?” muttered the profane boy.
“I cannot allow you to talk to me in this way, Philip!” cried Mr. Wone, flinging down his trowel. “You know perfectly well that you believe as firmly as I do, in your heart. It is only that you think it impressive and original to make these silly jokes.”