How lucky that Brandon should be making this mistake about the Pybus St. Anthony living! Finally, although he was completely frank with himself and knew that he was working, first and last, for his own future comfort, it did seem to him that he was also doing real benefit to the town. The times were changing. Men of Brandon's type were anachronistic; the town had been under Brandon's domination too long. New life was coming--a new world--a new civilisation. Ronder, although no one believed less in Utopias than he, did believe in the Zeitgeist--simply for comfort's sake if for no stronger reason. Well, the Zeitgeist was descending upon Polchester, and Ronder was its agent. Progress? No, Ronder did not believe in Progress. But in the House of Life there are many rooms; once and again the furniture is changed. One afternoon early in May he was suddenly aware that everything was moving more swiftly upon its appointed course than he, sharp though he was, had been aware. Crossing the Cathedral Green he encountered Dr. Puddifoot. He knew that the Doctor had at first disliked him but was quickly coming over to his side and was beginning to consider him as "broad-minded for a parson and knowing a lot more about life than you would suppose." He saw precisely into Puddifoot's brain and watched the thoughts dart to and fro as though they had been so many goldfish in a glass bowl. He also liked Puddifoot for himself; he always liked stout, big, red-faced men; they were easier to deal with than the thin severe ones. He knew that the time would very shortly arrive when Puddifoot would tell him one of his improper stories. That would sanctify the friendship. "Ha! Canon!" said Puddifoot, puffing like a seal. "Jolly day!" They stood and talked, then, as they were both going into the town, they turned and walked towards the Arden Gate. Puddifoot talked about his health; like many doctors he was very timid about himself and eager to reassure himself in public. "How are you, Canon? But I needn't ask-- looking splendid. I'm all right myself--never felt better really. Just a twinge of rheumatics last night, but it's nothing. Must expect something at my age, you know--getting on for seventy." "You look as though you'll live for ever," said Ronder, beaming upon him. "You can't always tell from us big fellows. There's Brandon now, for instance--the Archdeacon." "Surely there isn't a healthier man in the kingdom," said Ronder, pushing his spectacles back into the bridge of his nose. "Think so, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. A sudden shock, and that man would be nowhere. Given to fits of anger, always tried his system too hard, never learnt control. Might have a stroke any day for all he looks so strong!" "Really, really! Dear me!" said Ronder.