“What do you mean?” asked his wife.
“Just what I tell you. I thought I was in for a genuine row.”
“Go on! Go on! Why do you stop?”
“Well, it is such an astonishing experience that I am almost paralysed by it.”
“Go on, you silly boy,” cried his wife impatiently. “You are so provoking.”
“Well, let me begin at the beginning. You remember my sermon was a discussion of the origin of the Bible, and I went in for a somewhat mild discussion of the critical difficulties and that sort of thing attached to the text, as I told you last night.”
“Yes, I know you did. And you remember I warned you that you would get into trouble.”
“Well, you were right, as you are always. But let me go on. Don’t interrupt me. At the close of the service, after all the people were gone, I found sitting in the back a young man dressed like a cowboy, apparently not waiting for me but held there, entranced by the music. DeLaunay was playing some weird and wild thing. I came down with my most gracious smile and hand outstretched to welcome him to the church, in the orthodox style, when he rose from his place, a tall, lean, hard looking chap, and yet the kind of fellow that you would call ‘a dear’—good blue eyes, thin face, very attractive, in short, ‘a lovely boy,’ as you would say.”
“Well, what was the matter with him?” inquired his wife impatiently.
“What was the matter? My heterodoxy.”