“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“Oh, cut it out!” said the woman. “I'm on to you church folks.” She laughed. “One of 'em came in here once, and wanted to pray. I made a monkey of him.”
“I hope,” said the rector, smiling a little, “that is not the reason why you wish me to stay.”
She regarded him doubtfully.
“You're not the same sort,” she announced at length.
“What sort was he?”
“He was easy,—old enough to know better—most of the easy ones are. He marched in sanctimonious as you please, with his mouth full of salvation and Bible verses.” She laughed again at the recollection.
“And after that,” said the rector, “you felt that ministers were a lot of hypocrites.”
“I never had much opinion of 'em,” she admitted, “nor of church people, either,” she added, with emphasis.
“There's Ferguson, who has the department store,—he's 'way up' in church circles. I saw him a couple of months ago, one Sunday morning, driving to that church on Burton Street, where all the rich folks go. I forget the name—”