Chapter CLXX: Section 7: Another victim of their fervor was the Rev. Mr. Harding,

who stopped in to see them several times upon his tramps. Thyrsis would never have dreamed of troubling Mr. Harding, but Corydon found “something in him”, and would go at him hammer and tongs whenever he appeared. It must have been a novel experience for the clergyman; it seemed to fascinate him, for he came again and again, and soon quite a friendship sprang up between the two. She would tell Thyrsis about it at great length, and so, of course, he had to change his ideas about Mr. Harding.

“Don’t you see how fine and sensitive he is?” she would plead.

“No doubt, my dear,” said Thyrsis. “But don’t you think he’s maybe just a bit timid?”

“Timid,” she replied. “But then think of his training! And think what you are!”

“Yes, I suppose I’m pretty bad,” he admitted.

This discussion took place after he and Mr. Harding had had an argument, in which Thyrsis had remarked casually that modern civilization was “crucifying Jesus all over again.” And when Mr. Harding asked for enlightenment, Thyrsis answered, “My dear man, we crucify him according to the constitution. We teach the profession of crucifying him. We invest our capital in the business of crucifying him. We build churches and crucify him in his own name!”

After which explosion Corydon said, “You let me attend to Mr. Harding. I understand him, and how he feels about things.”

“All right, my dear,” assented Thyrsis. “When I see him coming, I’ll disappear.”

But that would not do either, it appeared, for Mr. Harding was a conventional person, and it was necessary that he should feel he was calling on the head of the family.

“Then,” said Thyrsis, “I’m supposed to sit by and serve as a chaperon?”

“You’re to answer questions when I ask you to,” replied Corydon.

Through Mr. Harding they made other acquaintances in Bellevue. There was a Mrs. Jennings, the wife of the young principal of the High School; they were simple and kindly people, who became fond of Corydon, and would beg her to visit them. The girl was craving for companionship, and she would plead with Thyrsis to accompany her, and subject himself to the agonies of “ping-pong” and croquet; and once or twice he submitted--and so one might have beheld them, at a lawn-party, hotly pressed by half a dozen disputants, in a debate concerning the nature of American institutions, and the future of religion and the home!

Thyrsis seldom took human relationships seriously enough to get excited in such arguments; but Corydon, with her intense and personal temperament, made an eager and uncomfortable propagandist. How could anyone fail to see what was so plain to her? And so she would bring books and pamphlets, and lend them about. There was a young man named Harry Stuart, a fine, handsome fellow, who taught drawing at the High School. In him, also, Cordon discovered possibilities; and she repudiated indignantly the idea that his soulful eyes and waving brown hair had anything to do with it. Harry Stuart was a guileless and enthusiastic member of the State militia; but in spite of this sinister fact, Corydon went at him. She soon had her victim burning the midnight oil over Kautsky and Hyndman; and behold, before the autumn had passed, the ill-fated drawing-teacher had resigned from the State militia, and was doing cartoons for the “Appeal to Reason”!