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Updated: June 8, 2025
"You can find out anything you like from the smallest boy in the town." This was not polite, but Ronder did not mind. There was a little pause, then he said very amiably: "I have heard some mention of that man Wistons." "What!" cried Brandon in a voice not very far from a shout. "The fellow who wrote that abnominable book, The Four Creeds?"
"Do forgive me if I am impertinent," said Wistons quietly, "but I have to know this." "But of course," said Ronder, "I consider you the best man for this appointment. I should not have stirred a finger in your support otherwise." But that is quite natural; you have only to consider some of your published works to understand that.
Was it, after all, quite wise that Wistons should come here? Would that same comfort, so rightly valued by Ronder, be quite assured in the future if Wistons were at Pybus? Wouldn't some nincompoop like Forsyth be perhaps, after all, his best choice? Ronder suddenly ceased to wish to give pennies to little children or a present to Brandon. He was, very justly, irritated.
She murmured something, and he burst out, "Oh, yes, they do! That's what they say! I know how they talk. They want to get me out of the way and change the place put in unbelievers and atheists. But they shan't not while I have any breath in my body " He went on more gently, "Why just think, my dear, they actually want to have that man Wistons here. An atheist! A denier of Christ's divinity!
"And that's Wistons of Hawston. It's been the wish of my heart for years back to bring Wistons here. We don't know, of course, if he would come, but I think he could be persuaded. And then then there'd be hope once more! God would be served! His Church would be a fitting Tabernacle!..." He broke off.
Wistons is, I believe, just the man to help us in such a crisis. His opinions are not precisely the same as those of some of us in this diocese, and I've no doubt that if he came here there would be some disputes from time to time, but I believe those same disputes would do us a world of good. God did not mean us to sit down twiddling our thumbs and never using our brains.
But his soul watched Brandon's soul. "My friend, Canon Foster, knows Mr. Wistons so much better than I do," he said, "that it is absurd for me to try and tell you what he should tell you. "I do regard him as the right man for this place, because I think our Cathedral, that we all so deeply love, is waiting for just such a man. Against his character no one, I suppose, has anything to say.
Ronder ceased. He felt as though he had been beating thin air with weak ineffective hands. They had, none of them, been listening to him or thinking of him; they had not even been thinking of Wistons. Their minds had been absorbed, held, dominated by the tall broad figure who sat in their midst, but was not one of them. Brandon, in fact, began to speak almost before Ronder had finished.
His mind was fixed upon his approaching interview with Foster. Foster had just paid a visit, quite unofficial and on a private personal basis, to Wistons, to sound him about the Pybus living and his action if he were offered it. Ronder understood men very much better than he understood women.
"Exactly!" he said, suddenly turning his eyes full on Wistons. "The Christian Church has made a golden calf of its dogmas. The Calf is worshipped, the Cathedral enshrines it." Wistons gave a swift curious stab of a glance. Ronder caught it; he flushed. "You think it strange of me to say that?" he asked. "I can see that you do. Let me be frank with you.
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