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Updated: May 15, 2025
Wallis Plimpton had made himself indispensable to both. His campaign for the daughter of Thurston Gore had been comparable to one of the great sieges of history, for Mr. Plimpton was a laughing-stock when he sat down before that fortress. At the end of ten years, Charlotte had capitulated, with a sigh of relief, realizing at last her destiny.
Plimpton implored his fellow-members not to bring personalities into the debate, and he was aware all the while of the curious, pitying expression of the rector. He breathed a sigh of relief at the opening words of Hodder, who followed him. "Gentlemen," he said, "I have no intention of being personal, even by unanimous consent. But if Mr.
He drew out a gold match box and seated himself with an air of gusto opposite his guest. "And you haven't had a vacation, they tell me." "On the contrary," said the rector, "McCrae has taken the services all summer." "But you've been in the city!" Mr. Plimpton exclaimed, puffing at his cigar. "Yes, I've been in the city." "Well, well, I'll bet you haven't been idle.
The walls were panelled, there was a stone fireplace with andirons set, a deep carpet spread over the tessellated floor, and three leather-padded armchairs, one of which Mr. Plimpton hospitably drew forward for the rector. He then produced a box of cigars. "You don't smoke, Mr. Hodder. I always forget. That's the way you manage to keep yourself in such good shape."
And missionary bishops aren't chosen to make convenient vacancies." "I don't mean anything crude," Mr. Plimpton protested. "But a word from the chief layman of a diocese like this, a man who never misses a General Convention, and does everything handsomely, might count, particularly if they're already thinking of Hodder. The bishops would never suspect we wanted to get rid of him."
Plimpton has always gone, and we are bringing up the children to go. Is that what you mean?" "No," Hodder answered, patiently, "that is not what I mean. I ask whether these stories in any way enter into your life, become part of you, and tend to make you a more useful woman?" "Well I have never considered them in that way," she replied, a little perplexed. "Do you believe in them yourself?"
Plimpton would have called Hodder's "reasonableness." One thing was clear that Mr. Plimpton was frightened. "I don't see what business it is of a clergyman, or of any one else, whether I own property in Dalton Street," Mr. Plimpton had said, as he sat on the edge of the lawyer's polished mahogany desk.
"Permit me to add," he said, "that this controversy, in other respects than doctrine, is more befitting to the Middle Ages than to the twentieth century, when this Church and other denominations are passing resolutions in their national conventions with a view to unity and freedom of belief." Mr. Langmaid, Mr. Plimpton, and Mr. Constable sat still. Mr. Ferguson made no move.
Parr's getting ready to make another big haul right now. I know, because Plimpton said as much, although he didn't confide in me what this particular piece of rascality is. He knows better." Phil Goodrich looked grim. "But the law?" exclaimed his wife. "There never was a law that Nelson Langmaid couldn't drive a horse and carriage through." "And Mr. Langmaid's one of the nicest men I know!"
He's a clever man, and if he hasn't got a list of Dalton Street property now he'll have one by to-morrow, and the story of some of your transactions with Tom Beatty and the City Council." "I believe you'd joke in the electric chair," said Mr. a Plimpton, resentfully. "I'll tell you this, and my experience backs me up, if you can't get next to a man by a little plain talk, he isn't safe.
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