A man in his position has to watch his step. What people expect from a curate is a zealous performance of his parochial duties. They like to think of him as a chap who preaches about Hivites, Jebusites and what not, speaks the word in season to the backslider, conveys soup and blankets to the deserving bed-ridden and all that sort of thing. When they find him dehelmeting policemen, they look at one another with the raised eyebrow of censure, and ask themselves if he is quite the right man for the job.
