“I'm afraid,” replied the rector, sadly, “that I understand one side of it only too well.”
“The Church has no right to meddle outside of her sphere, to dictate to politics and business.”
“Her sphere,” said Holder, “—is the world. If she does not change the world by sending out Christians into it, she would better close her doors.”
“Well, I don't intend to quarrel with you, Holder. I suppose it can't be helped that we look at these things differently, and I don't intend to enter into a defence of business. It would take too long, and it wouldn't help any.” He got to his feet. “Whatever happens, it won't interfere with our personal friendship, even if you think me a highwayman and I think you a—”
“A fanatic,” Holder supplied. He had risen, too, and stood, with a smile on his face, gazing at the lawyer with an odd scrutiny.
“An idealist, I was going to say,” Langmaid answered, returning the smile, “I'll admit that we need them in the world. It's only when one of them gets in the gear-box....”
The rector laughed. And thus they stood, facing each other.
“Langmaid,” Holder asked, “don't you ever get tired and disgusted with the Juggernaut car?”
The big lawyer continued to smile, but a sheepish, almost boyish expression came over his face. He had not credited the clergyman with so much astuteness.
“Business, nowadays, is—business, Holder. The Juggernaut car claims us all. It has become-if you will permit me to continue to put my similes into slang—the modern band wagon. And we lawyers have to get on it, or fall by the wayside.”