As soon as he does I'm behind
him."
Foster shook his head. "Have it your own way," he said. "Everything's the
same here--always compromise. Compromise! Compromise! I'm sick of the
cowardly word. We'll say no more of Brandon for the moment then. He'll
come up again, never fear. He's not the sort of man to avoid spoiling his
own soup."
"Very good," said Bentinck-Major in his most patronising manner. "Now we
are all agreed, I think. You will have noticed that I've been waiting for
this moment to suggest that we should come to business. Our business, I
believe, is to obtain what support we can against the gift of the living
to Mr. Forsyth and to suggest some other candidate...hum, haw...yes,
other candidate."
"There's only one possible candidate," Foster brought out, banging his
lean fist down upon the table near to him. "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!.
Pages:
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314