“At church, to be sure, with my wife and her mother.”
“Oh, yes!” was the reply, peculiarly prolonged, as if the idea never occurred to him before. “How long since you became so pious, old man? Didn’t suppose you knew what the inside of a church was used for. The outside is mainly useful to put a clock on, where it can be seen. Old Pink,—beg pardon! Mrs. Pinkerton,—I suppose, dragged you along by main force.”
“Not at all. I went of my own motion; in fact, suggested it to the ladies.”
“You don’t say so! Well, I see she is bringing you around. It is she that is destined to gain the supremacy.”
“Pshaw! Is my going to church such an indication of submission? It wouldn’t do you any harm to go to church once in a while, Fred.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he said, taking out his cigar, and stretching his feet to the top of the balustrade; “I don’t know about that. I am afraid it might be the ruin of me. I might become awfully pious, and then what a stick and a moping man of rags I should become. I tell you, Charlie, my boy, there’s many a good fellow spoilt by too much church and Sunday school.”
“Perhaps,” I replied, “but you and I are beyond danger.”
“Well, yes, but you can’t be too careful of yourself, you know.”
There was no answering that, and we relapsed into commonplace, and finished our cigars.
“Where’s old Dives to-day, and his charming niece, the lively Van?” asked Fred, after an uncommon fit of silent contemplation.