It only remains to add that he was learned in his theological fashion and that among his further peculiarities were the slow, monotonous voice in which he uttered his views in long sentences, and his total indifference to adverse argument however sound and convincing.
My other friend, Bickley, was a person of a quite different character.Like Bastin, he was learned, but his tendencies faced another way.If Bastin's omnivorous throat could swallow a camel, especially a theological camel, Bickley's would strain at the smallest gnat, especially a theological gnat.The very best and most upright of men, yet he believed in nothing that he could not taste, see or handle.He was convinced, for instance, that man is a brute-descended accident and no more, that what we call the soul or the mind is produced by a certain action of the grey matter of the brain; that everything apparently inexplicable has a perfectly mundane explanation, if only one could find it; that miracles certainly never did happen, and never will; that all religions are the fruit of human hopes and fears and the most convincing proof of human weakness; that notwithstanding our infinite variations we are the subjects of Nature's single law and the victims of blind, black and brutal chance.
Such was Bickley with his clever, well-cut face that always reminded me of a cameo, and thoughtful brow; his strong, capable hands and his rather steely mouth, the mere set of which suggested controversy of an uncompromising kind.Naturally as the Church had claimed Bastin, so medicine claimed Bickley.
Now as it happened the man who succeeded my father as vicar of Fulcombe was given a better living and went away shortly after Ihad purchased the place and with it the advowson.Just at this time also I received a letter written in the large, sprawling hand of Bastin from whom I had not heard for years.It went straight to the point, saying that he, Bastin, had seen in a Church paper that the last incumbent had resigned the living of Fulcombe which was in my gift.He would therefore be obliged if Iwould give it to him as the place he was at in Yorkshire did not suit his wife's health.
Here I may state that afterwards I learned that what did not suit Mrs.Bastin was the organist, who was pretty.She was by nature a woman with a temperament so insanely jealous that actually she managed to be suspicious of Bastin, whom she had captured in an unguarded moment when he was thinking of something else and who would as soon have thought of even looking at any woman as he would of worshipping Baal.As a matter of fact it took him months to know one female from another.Except as possible providers of subscriptions and props of Mothers'
Meetings, women had no interest for him.
To return--with that engaging honesty which I have mentioned--Bastin's letter went on to set out all his own disabilities, which, he added, would probably render him unsuitable for the place he desired to fill.He was a High Churchman, a fact which would certainly offend many; he had no claims to being a preacher although he was extraordinarily well acquainted with the writings of the Early Fathers.(What on earth had that to do with the question, I wondered.) On the other hand he had generally been considered a good visitor and was fond of walking (he meant to call on distant parishioners, but did not say so).
Then followed a page and a half on the evils of the existing system of the presentation to livings by private persons, ending with the suggestion that I had probably committed a sin in buying this particular advowson in order to increase my local authority, that is, if I had bought it, a point on which he was ignorant.
Finally he informed me that as he had to christen a sick baby five miles away on a certain moor and it was too wet for him to ride his bicycle, he must stop.And he stopped.
There was, however, a P.S.to the letter, which ran as follows:
"Someone told me that you were dead a few years ago, and of course it may be another man of the same name who owns Fulcombe.
If so, no doubt the Post Office will send back this letter."That was his only allusion to my humble self in all those diffuse pages.It was a long while since I had received an epistle which made me laugh so much, and of course I gave him the living by return of post, and even informed him that I would increase its stipend to a sum which I considered suitable to the position.
About ten days later I received another letter from Bastin which, as a scrawl on the flap of the envelope informed me, he had carried for a week in his pocket and forgotten to post.
Except by inference it returned no thanks for my intended benefits.What it did say, however, was that he thought it wrong of me to have settled a matter of such spiritual importance in so great a hurry, though he had observed that rich men were nearly always selfish where their time was concerned.Moreover, he considered that I ought first to have made inquiries as to his present character and attainments, etc., etc.
To this epistle I replied by telegraph to the effect that Ishould as soon think of ****** inquiries about the character of an archangel, or that of one of his High Church saints.This telegram, he told me afterwards, he considered unseemly and even ribald, especially as it had given great offence to the postmaster, who was one of the sidesmen in his church.
Thus it came about that I appointed the Rev.Basil Bastin to the living of Fulcombe, feeling sure that he would provide me with endless amusement and act as a moral tonic and discipline.
Also I appreciated the man's blunt candour.In due course he arrived, and I confess that after a few Sundays of experience Ibegan to have doubts as to the wisdom of my choice, glad as I was to see him personally.His sermons at once bored me, and, when they did not send me to sleep, excited in me a desire for debate.