That type was not distinguished nor intellectual, but it was undeniably healthy, honest and sane. Small trades-folk, male and female shopwalkers, better class artisans, lower middle-class women worn with household cares, occasional young folk in search of a sensation – these were the impressions which the audience conveyed to the trained observation of Malone.

The fat president rose and raised his hand.

«My friends,» said he, «we have had once more to exclude a great number of people who desired to be with us to-night. It's all a question of the building fund, and Mr. Williams on my left will be glad to hear from any of you I was in a hotel last week and they had a notice hung up in the reception bureau: 'No cheques accepted'. That's not the way Brother Williams talks. You just try him.»

The audience laughed. The atmosphere was clearly that of the lecture-hall rather than of the Church.

«There's just one more thing I want to say before I sit down. I'm not here to talk. I'm here to hold this chair down and I mean to do it. It's a hard thing I ask. I want Spiritualists to keep away on Sunday nights. They take up the room that inquirers should have. You can have the morning service. But its better for the cause that there should be room for the stranger. You've had it. Thank God for it. Give the other man a chance.» The president plumped back into his chair.

Mr. Peeble sprang to his feet. He was clearly the general utility man who emerges in every society and probably becomes its autocrat. With his thin, eager face and darting hands he was more than a live wire – he was a whole bundle of live wires. Electricity seemed to crackle from his fingertips.

«Hymn One!» he shrieked.

A harmonium droned and the audience rose. It was a fine hymn and lustily sung:

«The world hath felt a quickening breath From Heaven's eternal shore, And souls triumphant over death Return to earth once more.»