"Right as rain," answered Mrs. Trupp. "But she's had a rotten time."
There was no doubt that Alf was deeply stirred by this new happening in his brother's life.
The whole of him resented it with the fury of a baffled sea.
Ern was about to possess a beautiful woman Alf had desired, and Ern was Alf's brother. That deep-seated sense of competition and ineradicable jealousy that exists between members of a family—as profound and disruptive a force as any to be found in human consciousness, dating back as it does to the fierce struggles of nursery days—was at work within him.
As always in moments of conflict, he had recourse to his spiritual director.
The Reverend Spink was a sleek little man, solid in body if not in mind, and full of rather shoddy enthusiasms.
"Poor old Ernie!" said Alf. "He's been a bad brother to me. I will say that for him. But I wouldn't wish my worst friend to come to that."
"But you must save him from himself!" cried the curate. "Go out into the highways and hedges and drag them in!—that's the command. Fling out the life-line!" and he flung out a plump little arm clothed in best broadcloth to show how it was done.
Alf nodded solemnly.
"Yes," he said. "I'll save him—if he is to be saved." He rose up grandly, loving himself. "Cover me with hinsults; crucify me 'ands and feet; strike me in the face like as not. But I'll face it all. No cross, no crown, as the s'yin is."