"Please don't quibble. There's the same dual personality in you that there is in me talking among friends and preaching in this pulpit. Aren't you preparing me now--as a friend--for what you might have to say--as a vestryman?" "If you insist--yes," the Judge admitted, rather testily. It nettled him to be put on the defensive, his subtleness openly contemned. "In other words," Imrie rose from his chair and walked over to the window, where he paused for a moment. "In other words, you bear unofficial orders." "Not orders." "Advice then--advice for me to preach what the people want--and let what they need go hang?" "Arnold--my dear boy," cried the Judge pacifically, following him to the window. But Imrie edged away. "As the Spanish poet put it, 'Since the public pay 'tis just, methinks, we by their compass steer, and write the nonsense that they love to hear';" he murmured gently. "Really, I--" the Judge was at a loss for words. He had anticipated no such reception as this. Imrie's voice changed and his lips narrowed. "You may tell the--er--powerful laymen--Judge Wolcott, that I take my orders in these matters from my conscience, not from them." The older man stared at him in amazement. "Are you crazy?" he demanded, and a light flickered in his own eyes. "Obviously," said Imrie shortly. "Do you realise what this means?" "Perfectly." "Are you prepared to abide by the consequences?" That the Judge was thoroughly aroused was plain. He did not like to have subordinates treat him in such fashion, and any notion that Imrie was not a subordinate was of course only a polite fiction. It was incredible that this young fool should think it anything else. "My resignation will be in your hands this afternoon," said Imrie quietly. "Come, Arnold my lad," cried the Judge, honestly dismayed by the course their conversation had taken. "You mustn't be offended--really you mustn't. Let's get together and discuss this like men. We...." "There is nothing to discuss," said Imrie with a shortness which brooked no further opening. "You have stated your case with perfect clearness. I hope I have stated mine equally so. I think that ends it." "My dear young friend," said the older man with an effort at patience which only partially concealed his increasing exasperation. "I had no intention of stirring up all this excitement. I come to you with a friendly word of advice and you treat me like--like a policeman! Egad, one would think I was your worst enemy." "I'm sorry--really--I...." "Then forget it. Come--we'll take a stroll and talk about the weather. There's a good fellow. No sense in letting a little difference of opinion make us lose our tempers."