Mills wondered what he had ever seen that was likable in the rector, who certainly suggested nothing of apostolic austerity. Lindley threw back his coat, disclosing a gold cross suspended from a cord that stretched across his broad chest. Mills’s eyes fixed upon the emblem disapprovingly as he asked his visitor to have a cigar.
“No, thanks, Mills; I never smoke so early in the day—found it upset me. Moderation in all things is my motto. I missed you at the Clayton party the other night; a brilliant affair. Dear Leila was there, though, and Shepherd and his charming wife, to represent your family. Margaret and I left early.” The clergyman chuckled and lowering his voice continued: “I’ve heard—I’ve heard whispers that later on the party got quite gay! I tell you, Mills, the new generation is stepping high. All the more responsibility for the forces that make for good in this world! I was saying to the bishop only the other day that the church never before faced such perplexities as now!”
“Why do you say perplexities?” asked Mills in the quiet tone and indulgent manner of an expert cross-examiner who is preparing pitfalls for a witness.
“Ah, I see you catch at the word! It’s become a serious question what the church dare do! There’s the danger of offending; of estranging its own membership.”
“Yes, but why is it a danger?” Mills persisted.
The minister was surprised at these questions, which were wholly foreign to all his previous intercourse with Mills. His eyes opened and shut quickly. The Reverend Stuart Lindley was known as a man’s man, a clergyman who viewed humanity in the light of the twentieth century and was particularly discerning as to the temptations and difficulties that beset twentieth century business men.
“My dear Mills,” he said ingratiatingly, “you know and I know that this is an age of compromise. We clergymen are obliged to temper our warnings. The wind, you know, no longer blows on the lost sheep with the violence it once manifested, or at least the sheep no longer notice it!” A glint in Mills’s eyes gave him pause, but he went on hurriedly. “In certain particulars we must yield a little without appearing to yield. Do you get my point?”
“Frankly, I don’t know that I do,” Mills replied bluntly. “You preach that certain things are essential to the salvation of my soul. What right have you to compromise with me or anyone else? You either believe the Gospel and the creeds that are used every day in our churches or you don’t. I didn’t mean to start a theological discussion; I was just a little curious as to what you meant by perplexities, when the obligation is as plain as that table.”
“But—you see the difficulties! We have a right to assume that God is perfectly aware of all that goes on in His world and that the changing times are only a part of His purpose.”
“Well, yes,” Mills assented without enthusiasm. “But I was thinking of what you and the church I was born into declare to be necessary to the Christian life. I go to church rarely, as you know, but I’m fairly familiar with the New Testament. I’ve got a copy with the words of Jesus printed in bold type, so you can’t miss His meaning. He was pretty explicit; His meaning hits you squarely in the eye!”