"Then I shall only go into another village." "That's not my affair," said Crump. "Go where you like. Only go. Leave these three people, the Vicar, Shine, the little servant girl, whose heads are all spinning with galaxies of Angels...." "But," said the Angel. "Face your world! I tell you I can't. And leave Delia! I don't understand.... I do not know how to set about getting Work and Food and Shelter. And I am growing afraid of human beings...." "Fancies, fancies," said Crump, watching him, "mania." "It's no good my persisting in worrying you," he said suddenly, "but certainly the situation is impossible as it stands." He stood up with a jerk. "Good-morning, Mr--Angel," he said, "the long and the short of it is--I say it as the medical adviser of this parish--you are an unhealthy influence. We can't have you. You must go." He turned, and went striding through the grass towards the roadway, leaving the Angel sitting disconsolately on the tree trunk. "An unhealthy influence," said the Angel slowly, staring blankly in front of him, and trying to realise what it meant. SIR JOHN GOTCH ACTS. XLII. Sir John Gotch was a little man with scrubby hair, a small, thin nose sticking out of a face crackled with wrinkles, tight brown gaiters, and a riding whip. "I've come, you see," he said, as Mrs Hinijer closed the door. "Thank you," said the Vicar, "I'm obliged to you. I'm really obliged to you." "Glad to be of any service to you," said Sir John Gotch. (Angular attitude.) "This business," said the Vicar, "this unfortunate business of the barbed wire--is really, you know, a most unfortunate business." Sir John Gotch became decidedly more angular in his attitude. "It is," he said. "This Mr Angel being my guest--" "No reason why he should cut my wire," said Sir John Gotch, briefly. "None whatever." "May I ask _who_ this Mr Angel is?" asked Sir John Gotch with the abruptness of long premeditation. The Vicar's fingers jumped to his chin. What _was_ the good of talking to a man like Sir John Gotch about Angels? "To tell you the exact truth," said the Vicar, "there is a little secret--" "Lady Hammergallow told me as much." The Vicar's face suddenly became bright red. "Do you know," said Sir John, with scarcely a pause, "he's been going about this village preaching Socialism?" "Good heavens!" said the Vicar, "_No!_" "He has. He has been buttonholing every yokel he came across, and asking them why they had to work, while we--I and you, you know--did nothing. He has been saying we ought to educate every man up to your level and mine--out of the rates, I suppose, as usual. He has been suggesting that we--I and you, you know--keep these people down--pith 'em." "_Dear_ me!" said the Vicar, "I had no idea."