“Yes, it is a big world, Deacon, but there are some small potatoes in it. There’s hope for a fool, he may be turned from his folly, but God Almighty can’t put a gallon into a pint cup.”
“We’ll see who the small potato is before the day is done,” Van Meter snorted.
Gordon continued, meditatively, without noticing the interruption:
“Of all the little things on this earth a little New Yorker is the smallest. I’ve met ignorance in the South, sullen pigheadedness in New England; I’ve measured the boundless cheek of the West, my native heath; but for self-satisfied stupidity, for littleness in the world of morals, I have seen nothing on earth, or under it, quite so small as a well-to-do New Yorker. He has little brains, or culture, and only the rudiments of common sense, but, being from New York, he assumes everything. Of God’s big world, outside Wall Street, Broadway, Fifth Avenue, Central Park and Coney Island, he knows nothing; for he neither reads nor travels; and yet pronounces instant judgment on world movements of human thought and society.”
And deliberately he put on his hat and left the room.
The net result of the meeting was a vote to reduce the pastor’s salary a thousand dollars and add it to the music fund; and Van Meter hired two detectives to watch the minister.
CHAPTER VII — A STOLEN KISS
For several weeks after Gordon flung down the gauntlet to his Board of Trustees and began his battle for supremacy, his wife maintained a strange attitude of silence and reserve.