"And then he said: 'That's what Luther said, and taught Consubstantiation. That's what Calvin said and denied it. That's what Wesley said and taught the Real Presence, but not Consubstantiation or Transubstantiation. That's what Spurgeon said and denied all three. And that's what General Booth said and dispensed with sacraments altogether. If you care to shut yourself up with your Bible and pray, you will probably arrive at some further opinion. There are about three hundred and sixty-five Protestant sects, and there is no reason why there should not be three hundred and sixty-six.'" "None at all," said Dick; "and I say, sit steady, or you'll upset this bally canoe." "But look here, Dick--hang it all, be serious. He's right. The Bible, being nineteen hundred years old and a written book, _is_ open to scores of different interpretations. Mere praying obviously does not prevent such differences of opinion; it almost seems to increase them. And consequently, if there is not some one authoritative voice to interpret, we might as well not have the Bible at all. Or, like Tressor, we must chuck dogma overboard. Either way our position goes." "And so?" "Well, so, if you will have it, we've got to find some better reason than our view of the Bible for condemning the Catholic Church. We've got to find some further basis for our position." Dick sat up and fell to paddling. Paul watched him anxiously. After a while, his companion began to whistle, and at that Paul could stand it no more. "Dick," he cried, "do you mean to say you don't see it at all?" Dick Hartley trailed his paddle behind him and laughed a little. "Look here, Paul," he said, "you're too logical. Religion is not a primary textbook. You and I know and love Christ, and we know that Roman Catholicism is not His Gospel. The thing is so obvious that it isn't worth discussion. Chuck it, then. Pitch that book overboard and say your prayers." And he recommenced to paddle. Paul flushed beneath his summer tan. He leant back and stared up through the weave of leaves and twigs above them, and when he spoke, he was deliberate and cool. "Dick," he said, "Christ is the truth, and your attitude to truth seems to me simple blasphemy." Dick laughed again. "You're a nice old ass," he said. Paul's letters were full of the burning subject, and he wrote at length to his father and to Edith. His father was both incredulous and indignant at the boy's attitude, and his replies threw his son into despair. The elder man would admit nothing at all. He declined to argue; he refused even to consider what seemed to Paul reasonable historical evidence. Rome was the great Babylon, the Scarlet Woman, Anti-Christ; it had lied, tricked, tortured and sold its Master all down the centuries. "I would sooner see a son of mine dead," wrote Mr. Kestern, "than a Roman Catholic."