The Cathedral Part 16

"I'm going up Orange Street too. It's the High School Governors' meeting, you know."

"Oh, yes, of course."

The two men started up the hill together. Ronder surveyed the scene around him with pleasure. Orange Street always satisfied his aesthetic sense. It was the street of the doctors, the solicitors, the dentists, the bankers, and the wealthier old maids of Polchester. The grey stone was of a charming age, the houses with their bow-windows, their pillared porches, their deep-set doors, their gleaming old-fashioned knockers, spoke eloquently of the day when the great Jane's Elizabeths and D'Arcys, Mrs.

Morrises and Misses Bates found the world in a tea-cup, when pa.s.sions were solved by matrimony and ambitions by the possession of a carriage and a fine pair of bays. But more than this was the way that the gardens and lawns and orchards ran unchecked in and out, up and down, here breaking into the street, there crowding a church with apple-trees, seeming to speak, at every step, of leisure and sunny days and lives free of care.

Ronder had never seen anything so pretty; something seemed to tell him that he would never see anything so pretty again.

Ryle was not a good conversationalist, because he had always before him the fear that some one might twist what he said into something really unpleasant, but, indeed, he found Ronder so agreeable that, as he told Mrs. Ryle when he got home, he "never noticed the hill at all."

"I hope you won't think me impertinent," said Ronder, "but I must tell you how charmed I was with the way that you sang the service on Sunday. You must have been complimented often enough before, but a stranger always has the right, I think, to say something. I'm a little critical, too, of that kind of thing, although, of course, an amateur...but--well, it was delightful."

Ryle flushed with pleasure to the very tips of his over-large ears.

"Oh, really, Canon...But indeed I hardly know what to say. You're too good. I do my poor best, but I can't help feeling that there is danger of one's becoming stale. I've been here a great many years now and I think some one fresh...."

"Well, often," said Ronder, "that _is_ a danger. I know several cases where a change would be all for the better, but in your case there wasn't a trace of staleness. I do hope you won't think me presumptuous in saying this. I couldn't help myself. I must congratulate you, too, on the choir.

How do you find Brockett as an organist?"

"Not quite all one would wish," said Ryle eagerly--and then, as though he remembered that some one might repeat this to Brockett, he added hurriedly, "Not that he doesn't do his best. He's an excellent fellow.

Every one has their faults. It's only that he's a _little_ too fond of adventures on his own account, likes to add things on the spur of the moment...a little _fantastic_ sometimes."

"Quite so," said Ronder gravely. "That's rather what I'd thought myself.

I noticed it once or twice last Sunday. But that's a fault on the right side. The boys behave admirably. I never saw better behaviour."

Ryle was now in his element. He let himself go, explaining this, defending that, apologising for one thing, hoping for another. Before he knew where he was he found himself at the turning above the monument that led to the High School.

"Here we part," he said.

"Why, so we do," cried Ronder.

"I do hope," said Ryle nervously, "that you'll come and see us soon. Mrs.

Ryle will be delighted...."

"Why, of course I will," said Ronder. "Any day you like. Good-bye. Good- bye," and he went to Bentinck-Major's.

One look at Bentinck-Major's garden told a great deal about Bentinck- Major. The flower-beds, the trim over-green lawn, the neat paths, the trees in their fitting places, all spoke not only of a belief in material things but a desire also to demonstrate that one so believed....

One expected indeed to see the Bentinck-Major arms over the front-door.

They were there in spirit if not in fact.

"Is the Canon in?" Ronder asked of a small and gaping page-boy.

He was in, it appeared. Would he see Canon Ronder? The page-boy disappeared and Ronder was able to observe three family trees framed in oak, a large china bowl with visiting-cards, and a huge round-faced clock that, even as he waited there, pompously announced that half-hour.

Presently the Canon, like a shining Ganymede, came flying into the hall.

"My dear Ronder! But this is delightful. A little early for tea, perhaps.

Indeed, my wife is, for the moment, out. What do you say to the library?"

Ronder had nothing to say against the library, and into it they went. A fine room with books in leather bindings, high windows, an oil painting of the Canon as a smart young curate, a magnificent writing-table, _The Spectator_ and _The Church Times_ near the fireplace, and two deep leather arm-chairs. Into these last two the clergymen sank.

Bentinck-Major put his fingers together, crossed his admirable legs, and looked interrogatively at his visitor.

"I'm lucky to catch you at home," said Ronder. "This isn't quite the time to call, I'm afraid. But the fact is that I want some advice."

"Quite so," said his host.

"I'm not a very modest man," said Ronder, laughing. "In fact, to tell you the truth, I don't believe very much in modesty. But there _are_ times when it's just as well to admit one's incompetence. This is one of them--"

"Why, really, Canon," said Bentinck-Major, wishing to give the poor man encouragement.

"No, but I mean what I say. I don't consider myself a stupid man, but when one comes fresh into a place like this there are many things that one _can't_ know, and that one must learn from some one wiser than oneself if one's to do any good."

"Oh, really, Canon," Bentinck-Major repeated. "If there's anything I can do--".

"There is. It isn't so much about the actual details of the work that I want your advice. Hart-Smith has left things in excellent condition, and I only hope that I shall be able to keep everything as straight as he has done. What I really want from you is some sort of bird's-eye view as to the whole situation. The Chapter, for instance. Of course, I've been here for some months now and have a little idea as to the people in the place, but you've been here so long that there are many things that you can tell me."

"Now, for instance," said Bentinck-Major, looking very wise and serious.

"What kind of things?"

"I don't want you to tell me any secrets," said Ronder. "I only want your opinion, as a man of the world, as to how things stand--what really wants doing, who, Beside yourself, are the leading men here and in what directions they work. I needn't say that this conversation is confidential."

"Oh, of course, of course."

"Now, I don't know if I'm wrong, but it seems from what I've seen during the short time that I've been here that the general point of view is inclined to be a little too local. I believe you rather feel that yourself, although I may be prejudiced, coming straight as I have from London."

"It's odd that you should mention that, Canon," said Bentinck-Major.

"You've put your finger on the weak spot at once. You're only saying what I've been crying aloud for the last ever so many years. A voice in the wilderness I've been, I'm afraid--a voice in the wilderness, although perhaps I _have_ managed to do a little something. But there's no doubt that the men here, excellent though they are, are a _little_ provincial.

What else can you expect? They've been here for years. They have not had, most of them, the advantage of mingling with the great world. That I should have had a little more of that opportunity than my fellows here is nothing to my credit, but it does, beyond question, give one a wider view --a wider view. There's our dear Bishop for instance--a saint, if ever there was one. A saint, Ronder, I a.s.sure you. But there he is, hidden away at Carpledon--out of things, I'm afraid, although of course he does his best. Then there's Sampson. Well, I hardly need to tell you that he's not quite the man to make things hum. _Not_ by his own fault I a.s.sure you. He does his best, but we are as we're made...yes. We can only use the gifts that G.o.d has given us, and G.o.d has not, undoubtedly, given the Dean _quite_ the gifts that we need here."

He paused and waited. He was a cautious man and weighed his words.

"Then there's Brandon," said Ronder smiling. "There, if I may say so, is a splendid character, a man who gives his whole life and energy for the good of the place--who spares himself nothing."

There was a little pause. Bentinck-Major took advantage of it to look graver than ever.

"He strikes you like that, does he?" he said at last. "Well, in many ways I think you're right. Brandon is a good friend of mine--I may say that he thoroughly appreciates what I've done for this place. But he is-- _quite_ between ourselves--how shall I put it?--just a _little_ autocratic. Perhaps that's too strong a word, but he _is_, some think, a little too inclined to fancy that he runs the Cathedral! That, mind you, is only the opinion of some here, and I don't know that I should entirely a.s.sociate myself with it, but perhaps there is _something_ in it. He is, as you can see, a man of strong will and, again between ourselves, of a considerable temper. This will not, I'm sure, go further than ourselves?"

"Absolutely not," said Ronder.

"Things have been a little slack here for several years, and although I've done my own little best, what is one against so many, if you understand what I mean?"

"Quite," said Ronder.

"Well, n.o.body could call Brandon an unenergetic man--quite the reverse.

And, to put it frankly, to oppose him one needs courage. Now I may say that I've opposed him on a number of occasions but have had no backing.

Brandon, when he's angry, is no light opponent, and the result has been that he's had, I'm afraid, a great deal of his own way."