The Imperialist Read Online Free

much to be said for the preaching at St. Andrew’s.) The Established folk went on calling the minister of Knox Church “Mr.” Drummond long after he was “Doctor” to his own congregation, on account of what they chose to consider the dubious source of the dignity; but the Knox Church people had their own theory to explain this hypercriticism, and would promptly turn the conversation to the merits of the sermon.
    Twenty-five years it was, in point, this Monday morning when the Doctor – not being Established we need not hesitate, besides by this time nobody did – stood with Mr. Murchison in the store door and talked about having seen changes. He had preached his anniversary sermon the night before to a full church, when, laying his hand upon his people’s heart, he had himself to repress tears. He was aware of another strand completed in their mutual bond; the sermonhad been a moral, an emotional, and an oratorical success; and in the expansion of the following morning Dr. Drummond had remembered that he had promised his housekeeper a new gas cooking-range, and that it was high time he should drop into Murchison’s to inquire about it. Mrs. Forsyth had mentioned at breakfast that they had ranges with exactly the improvement she wanted at Thompson’s, but the minister was deaf to the hint. Thompson was a Congregationalist, and, improvement or no improvement, it wasn’t likely that Dr. Drummond was going “outside the congregation” for anything he required. It would have been on a par with a wandering tendency in his flock, upon which he systematically frowned. He was as great an autocrat in this as the rector of any country parish in England undermined by Dissent; but his sense of obligation worked unfailingly both ways.
    John Murchison had not said much about the sermon; it wasn’t his way, and Dr. Drummond knew it. “You gave us a good sermon last night, Doctor;” not much more than that, and “I noticed the Milburns there; we don’t often get Episcopalians;” and again, “The Wilcoxes” – Thomas Wilcox, wholesale grocer, was the chief prop of St. Andrew’s – “were sitting just in front of us. We overtook them going home, and Wilcox explained how much they liked the music. ‘Glad to see you,’ I said. ‘Glad to see you for any reason,’” Mr. Murchison’s eye twinkled. “But they had a great deal to say about ‘the music.’” It was not an effusive form of felicitation; the minister would have liked it less if it had been, felt less justified, perhaps, in remembering about the range on that particular morning. As it was, he was able to take it with perfect dignity and good humour, and to enjoy the point against the Wilcoxes with that laugh of his that did everybody good to hear; so hearty it was, so rich in the grain of the voice, so full of thezest and flavour of the joke. The range had been selected, and their talk of changes had begun with it, Mr. Murchison pointing out the new idea in the boiler, and Dr. Drummond remembering his first kitchen stove that burned wood and stood on its four legs, with nothing behind but the stove pipe, and if you wanted a boiler you took off the front lids and put it on, and how remarkable even that had seemed to his eyes, fresh from the conservative kitchen notions of the old country. He had come, unhappily, a widower to the domestic improvements on the other side of the Atlantic. “Often I used to think,” he said to Mr. Murchison, “if my poor wife could have seen that stove how delighted she would have been! But I doubt this would have been too much for her altogether!”
    “That stove!” answered Mr. Murchison. “Well I remember it. I sold it myself to your predecessor, Mr. Wishart, for thirty dollars – the last purchase he ever made, poor man. It was great business for me – I had only two others in the store like it. One of them old Milburn bought – the father of this man, d’ye mind him? – the other stayed by me a matter of seven