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Honest enough themselves, these men, typified by Bishop Hooper, were ready to credit with a like honesty any one who talked their particular jargon with sufficient fervour, and to stigmatise as Laodiceans any one who did not go to every length along with them.
His father would approve, and money from the estate would of course be forthcoming. Constance was on her father's side extremely well-born; the Hooper blood would soon be lost sight of in a Risborough and Falloden descent. She was sufficiently endowed; and she had all the grace of person and mind that a Falloden had a right to look for in his wife.
"An' if a man gets struck with that kind o' woman, Mr. Hooper?" Pritchard went on. "He goes crazy or just saves himself," was the slow answer. "You've hit it," said the Sergeant. "You've seen an' known somethin' in the course o' your life, Mr. Hooper. I'm lookin' at you!" He set down his bottle. "And how often had Vickery seen her?" I asked.
I ain't such a bad scout; but you gotta get used to me. Give me my hop and I'm all right. Now about this Hooper; you say you know him?" "None better," I rejoined. "But what's that to you? That's a fair question." He bored me with his beady rat eyes for several seconds. "Friend of yours?" he asked, briefly. Something in the intonations of his voice induced me to frankness.
Nonconformity, of which Hooper is often referred to as the "father," did not seek separation from the ecclesiastical organisation, but expressed dissatisfaction with particular observances, which it sought to have modified in the Swiss sense: not as being in themselves intolerable, but as tending to encourage superstitious and papistical ideas.
They waited nearly ten minutes in the rain; then a shambling footstep shambled down the path, and an old face peered out between the trellised iron work. "Who is it?" an old voice asked. "It is I, Hooper. Sir Victor and I. For pity's sake don't keep us standing here in the rain." "My lady! Praise be!"
In any case he would show her that he was a man. He would not try to see her until she had written not under any circumstances. After dinner and mail time his thoughts ran in another channel. In reality she was not anything so wonderful. Most men, he knew, did not think her more than pretty; "pretty Mrs. Hooper" was what she was usually called nothing more.
At that precise instant a judge sitting on the bench in one of the courtrooms in New York City signed the decree divorcing Mrs. Joseph Hooper from her husband, and four minutes later the lady walked out of the building with her son and two daughters, all of them having deliberately turned their backs upon the miserable defendant in the case.
"So do I," reiterated Joseph Hooper. "How much do you pity him, fellows?" asked Tony, seating himself in his arm-chair. "So much that we would help him if we could," answered Henry. "You can help him." A deep silence ensued. "Have you the nerve to make a great sacrifice, Butterflies?" exclaimed Tony with energy. "We have." "I move you, Mr.
Hooper, that was a known case, and the Alderman had fetched his wife back to London for no other reason. It was the talk of the whole Wells. "Who says so?" cries out Harry, indignantly. "I should like to meet the man who dares say so, and confound the villain!" "I should not like to show him to you," says Mr. Sampson, laughing. "It might be the worse for him."
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