Grandfather was a philosopher, and like a lot of philosophers, I guess, he was a mild-mannered man who was always ready to admit that there are two sides to every question. So when people got to arguing with him, or around him, about things that they got heated up and illogical about, like politics and religion, he would tell this story that Doc Eaton told him one day up on the Hill.

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　　It happened a long time ago, when the town wasn't all steel and concrete and automobiles; when you could still hear the whir of a lawn mower without taking a streetcar out to the suburbs, and still see a horse lazily switching at the flies on his flanks(两翼) under almost any sycamore(美国梧桐) tree. The Forest City had a lot of trees in those days.

　　And it had a lot of people that didn't always see eye to eye(看法一致), like a lot of other cities. And it had a rich man, like almost every other town. And this rich man was a pillar in the Baptist Church; and people didn't see eye to eye about him, either.

　　There were those—and Grandfather's eyes twinkled when he said it—that claimed the rich man was an old hypocrite5, that he was ruthless in his business dealings, that he was so tightfisted he wouldn't spend a nickel to see an earthquake, that when he went to church on Sunday morning he was almost as important as God to a lot of people.

　　Then there was the other school of thought. It asserted that just because a man had made money under conditions as they existed was no reason to call him a lot of hard names. In fact, they asserted stoutly, the people that called him names were merely envious of his success. They maintained he went to church not because he was a sanctimonious old fraud but because he was at heart, and for all his money, a simple, deeply religious man.

　　It was while these two groups were hot at it that the rich man gave a party. Well, it wasn't exactly a party, Grandfather would explain. It was more like a shower for the pastor(牧师) of the church. One group of parishioners saw in their invitation nothing but a kindly, neighborly gesture. The other just said it showed how miserly the old buzzard was—getting other people to do what he could have done a thousand times over without feeling it a mite.

　　Grandfather said even then he had the sneaking feeling that the rich man wasn't so insulated and isolated by his money that he didn't know what people were saying about him, and that was the real reason he gave the party.

　　But both sides of the question went to the party. A lot of them were pretty curious about the inside of a rich man's home.

　　They brought offerings for the pastor, as they were requested. Some people brought apples, and others brought sides of bacon and onions and other homey old-fashioned things like that. But nobody was really much interested in what the other guests brought. They were all waiting for one thing. What would the rich man bring out? Even Doc Eaton, the preacher, according to Grandfather, couldn't help wondering about what was coming. You could feel the undercurrent of suspense.