"Why not?"
"Ye've asked me a riddle. All I know is that the minute ye begin to preach, off they go and never come back."
Hodder, with unconscious fixity, looked into his assistant's honest face. He had an exasperating notion that McCrae might have said more, if he would.
"Haven't you a theory?"
"Try yourself," said McCrae. His manner was abrupt, yet oddly enough, not ungracious.
"Don't think I'm criticizing," said the rector, quickly.
"I know well ye're not."
"I've been trying to learn. It seems to me that we are only accomplishing half our task, and I know that St. John's is not unique in this respect. I've been talking to Andrews, of Trinity, about their poor."
"Does he give you a remedy?"
"No," Hodder said. "He can't see any more than I can why Christianity doesn't appeal any longer. The fathers and mothers of these people went to church, in the old country and in this. Of course he sees, as you and I do, that society has settled into layers, and that the layers won't mix. And he seems to agree with me that there is a good deal of energy exerted for a comparatively small return."