“I mean this,” he said. “I mean that Alexander Carkeek is trying to get himself made churchwarden.”
For a moment I was stunned. My father sat heavily down again.
“But good God,” I cried, “that amounts to simony.”
“I know,” said my father. “That’s what I’ve told Carkeek.”
“Then you’ve seen him?” I said.
My father looked at me grimly.
“I’ve not only seen him,” he answered, “but I’ve told him what I’ve thought of him. And I’ve explicitly informed him that if he’s made a churchwarden, I shall take proceedings against him in the ecclesiastical courts.”
My father leaned back closing his eyes, and I had never admired him more, perhaps, than at that moment.
“And the vicar,” I said. “Have you spoken to the vicar?”
“I was obliged to warn him,” said my father, “in identical terms.”