And not only in his own chapel, but far and near spread the fame of the Rev. David Jones, and to chapel openings and consecrations, to missions and special efforts, invitations came in showers. He became the rage, and though he protested at any term that savoured of Episcopacy and the Scarlet Woman, he, in his heart of hearts, acknowledged the discernment of an ardent admirer who had publicly referred to him as the Bishop of the Holme Valley. At nights he dreamed of the Presidency of the Union.
And now, when all things seemed to go well, people began to talk of the Sunday meetings at Co-op mill, and of Tom Pinder, who, folk said, spoke out what Jones only hinted at.
"Aw'll tell yo' what it is," said one shrewd level-headed critic, "Aw've heard that pea-i'-a-bladder preich at Aenon Chapel, and aw've heard Co-op Tom fro' th' same text, but Pinder doesn't ca' it preichin', he ca's it explainin'."
"Why t' eleventh commandment, and mi own opinion is 'at Pinder sees as far as th' purson, an' spits it aat like a man, upright and dahnwright, and a babby could tell what he meeans: but th' other chap, he goes as far as Pinder, but he beats abaat th' bush, an' he 'perhaps this' and 'may it not be that?' an' he watches th' deacons an' th' chief pew-howders to see ha' it gooas dahn, an' he lets hissen aat an' he poo's hissen in like th' cap'n of a sailin' booat wi' one eye on the clouds an' t'other on th' shoals an' reefers."
"Nah, Pinder just says what's in him, an' if yo' dunnot like it yo can lump it. An' what's more, at th' end o' ivvery lectur', yo' can get up an' just ha' a few minnit's enjoyment o' yo'r own accaant an' pitch into th' discourse like owd Billy, an' th' harder yo' hit th' more Pinder seems to like it."
"An' why canno' Jones speik it aat plain same as Pinder?"
"Well, there's some folk so constitooted, yo' see, 'at they like to swim wi' th' tide an' 'll tak' uncommon gooid care nevver to waste their puff swimmin' up-stream. An' then yo' see, Jones has a large fam'ly, an' my misses says 'at Mrs. Jones wi' her rings an' mantles, an' feathers, an' faldelals can do wi' all 'at Jones can addle an' more at th' top on it."
Now, of course talk of this kind in a village like Holmfirth not only circulates, it percolates and in time the gist and substance of it reached Mr. Jones. He had had hopes of Tom at one time. He had observed with satisfaction that this very intelligent-looking, well-behaved, well-spoken, neatly dressed young man had been an attentive listener and frequent worshipper at his own chapel, and that, on occasions, he had brought with him that quite-past-praying-for Ben Garside, a notorious mocker and a scoffer. Mr. Jones had accepted their presence as one of many just tributes to his zeal and eloquence. One had been rescued from the tepid waters of the Church, the other was a brand plucked from the burning depths of infidelity, and Mr. Jones had duly rejoiced.