‘There’s your own definition,’ she said, ‘you wrote it in a school essay. I kept it because I thought it was good. I won’t spoil it; I’ll send it you.’
And the next day the essay, which he had entirely forgotten, written in a round boyish hand, reached him by post.
‘A jockey,’ he read, ‘is one who had trained himself from early years in the dangerous and delicate art of falling from a horse.’
Accompanying it was a cheque for a hundred pounds. ‘No wonder!’ said Mr. Trimblerigg, ‘she feels that she owes me something now.’ For by what he had just done he was giving her the right, twelve years hence, to continue as main beneficiary under the will of Uncle Phineas.
Nevertheless he was pleased that he had pleased her. It was almost the first time he had known it happen. Davidina’s opinion of him counted much more than he liked. All his growing years he had tried to escape from her, and still he had failed.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scene-shifting
MR. TRIMBLERIGG’S fall from the grace of true Belief—or from the good graces of the True Believers—had a famous reverberation in the Free Church Press; and at the age of twenty-four he became for the time being—next to the great Dr. Giffard himself—the most controversially talked-of person among the high lights of Nonconformity.
For just at that time the Free Churches had nothing on which to grit their teeth, and badly wanted a new bone. The New Theology of Dr. Ramble had come almost to nothing: its author had deserted it upon the door-step of the more ancient faith into which he had retired; and the fight about it had died down. But here was a fight, not more suddenly sprung than ended; and in a single round this young Jonathan of a David had been knocked out by the older Goliath. The common sympathies were with him, for the True Believers were not a popular sect; a time had come when it was generally felt that they were doing harm rather than good by an insistence on the literal truth of things which no one really believed. Nevertheless many old school Free Evangelicals considered that Mr. Trimblerigg’s method of attack had been inconsiderate and rash; for if one started to put quotation marks round everything one did not wish to accept, where would the process end? The world still believed in punishment for the wicked; Samuel and Elisha stood high among the prophets; and if harvests were not liable to be cursed for a nation’s sins, how then consistently could they—or alterations in the weather—be prayed for? As for the tearing of the she-bears, in primitive times primitive punishments were not regarded as they are now. Besides, as somebody pointed out in the correspondence which followed in The Rock of Ages, the she-bears may only have torn them slightly though sufficiently, killing none; merely teaching them to behave better in the future.
But though then, as always, Mr. Trimblerigg’s plunges in exegesis provoked criticism, they had at least abundantly released him from the restricting inhibitions of True Belief, and the way to wider pulpits now lay open.
And then in the very nick of time, on a Saturday night of all days and hours in the week, Grandfather Hubback was taken ill, and Mr. Trimblerigg, who had been much in doubt where to go for his next Sunday’s worship, came down at short notice and preached at Bethesda so beautifully, so movingly, and in so charitable and resigned a spirit, that there was no question of asking anyone else to come the following Sunday and take his place.