The Inside of the Cup | Page 3

was treated with the
greatest deference by the elders, and with none at all by the children,
who besieged him. The bigger ones knew that he had had what is called
a history; that he had been rich once, with a great mansion of his own,
but now he lived on Dalton Street, almost in the slums, and worked
among the poor. His name was Mr. Bentley.
He was not there on the particular Sunday when this story opens,
otherwise the conversation about to be recorded would not have taken

place. For St. John's Church was not often mentioned in Mr. Bentley's
presence.
"Well, grandmother," said Phil Goodrich, who was the favourite
son-in- law, "how was the new rector to-day?"
"Mr. Hodder is a remarkable young man, Phil," Mrs. Waring declared,
"and delivered such a good sermon. I couldn't help wishing that you
and Rex and Evelyn and George had been in church."
"Phil couldn't go," explained the unmarried and sunburned Evelyn, "he
had a match on of eighteen holes with me."
Mrs. Waring sighed.
"I can't think what's got into the younger people these days that they
seem so indifferent to religion. Your father's a vestryman, Phil, and I
believe it has always been his hope that you would succeed him. I'm
afraid Rex won't succeed his father," she added, with a touch of regret
and a glance of pride at her husband. "You never go to church, Rex.
Phil does."
"I got enough church at boarding-school to last me a lifetime, mother,"
her son replied. He was slightly older than Evelyn, and just out of
college. "Besides, any heathen can get on the vestry--it's a financial
board, and they're due to put Phil on some day. They're always putting
him on boards."
His mother looked a little distressed.
"Rex, I wish you wouldn't talk that way about the Church--"
"I'm sorry, mother," he said, with quick penitence. "Mr. Langmaid's a
vestryman, you know, and they've only got him there because he's the
best corporation lawyer in the city. He isn't exactly what you'd call
orthodox. He never goes."
"We are indebted to Mr. Langmaid for Mr. Hodder." This was one of

Mr. Waring's rare remarks.
Eleanor Goodrich caught her husband's eye, and smiled.
"I wonder why it is," she said, "that we are so luke-warm about church
in these days? I don't mean you, Lucy, or Laureston," she added to her
sister, Mrs. Grey. "You're both exemplary." Lucy bowed ironically.
"But most people of our ages with whom we associate. Martha Preston,
for instance. We were all brought up like the children of Jonathan
Edwards. Do you remember that awful round-and-round feeling on
Sunday afternoons, Sally, and only the wabbly Noah's Ark elephant to
play with, right in this house? instead of THAT!" There was a bump in
the hall without, and shrieks of laughter. "I'll never forget the first time
it occurred to me--when I was reading Darwin--that if the ark were as
large as Barnum's Circus and the Natural History Museum put together,
it couldn't have held a thousandth of the species on earth. It was a
blow."
"I don't know what we're coming to," exclaimed Mrs. Waring gently.
"I didn't mean to be flippant, mother," said Eleanor penitently, "but I do
believe the Christian religion has got to be presented in a different way,
and a more vital way, to appeal to a new generation. I am merely
looking facts in the face."
"What is the Christian religion?" asked Sally's husband, George
Bridges, who held a chair of history in the local flourishing university.
"I've been trying to find out all my life."
"You couldn't be expected to know, George," said his wife. "You were
brought up an Unitarian, and went to Harvard."
"Never mind, professor," said Phil Goodrich, in a quizzical,
affectionate tone. "Take the floor and tell us what it isn't."
George Bridges smiled. He was a striking contrast in type to his square-
cut and vigorous brother-m-law; very thin, with slightly protruding
eyes the color of the faded blue glaze of ancient pottery, and yet

humorous.
"I've had my chance, at any rate. Sally made me go last Sunday and
hear Mr. Hodder."
"I can't see why you didn't like him, George," Lucy cried. "I think he's
splendid."
"Oh, I like him," said Mr. Bridges.
"That's just it!" exclaimed Eleanor. "I like him. I think he's sincere. And
that first Sunday he came, when I saw him get up in the pulpit and
wave that long arm of his, all I could think of was a modern Savonarola.
He looks one. And then, when he began to preach, it was maddening. I
felt all the time that he could say something helpful, if he only would.
But he didn't. It was all about the sufficiency