But that's not the question. The idea of
Thurston's disgusting. You can't seriously consider it for a minute
. . ."
"Why is Thurston disgusting, my boy?"
Martin hated to be called "my boy"--it made him feel so young and
dependent.
"You've only got to look at him!" Martin jumped up, disregarding his
father's hand, and began to stamp about the room. "He's a cad--he's
not your friend, father. He isn't, really. He'd like to out you from
the whole thing if he could. He thinks you're old-fashioned and
behind the times, and all he thinks about is bringing in
subscriptions and collecting new converts. He's like one of those
men who beat drums outside tents in a fair . . . He's a sickening
man! He doesn't believe in his religion or anything else. I should
think he's crooked about money, and immoral probably too. You're
much too innocent, father. You're so good and trustful yourself that
you don't know how these fellows are doing you in. There's a regular
plot against you and they'd be most awfully pleased if you were to
retire. They're not genuine like you. They simply use the Chapel for
self-advertisement and making money.
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