“Ah!” he reflected in the turmoil of his soul: “God is not mocked!” That was his basic idea: God is not mocked! Daniel was a good fellow, honourable, brilliant; a figure in the world. But what of his licentious tongue? What of his frequenting of bars? (How had he come to miss that train from Liverpool? How?) For many years he, Samuel, had seen in Daniel a living refutation of the authenticity of the old Hebrew menaces. But he had been wrong, after all! God is not mocked! And Samuel was aware of a revulsion in himself towards that strict codified godliness from which, in thought, he had perhaps been slipping away.
And with it all he felt, too, a certain officious self-importance, as he woke his wife and essayed to break the news to her in a manner tactfully calm. He had assisted at the most overwhelming event ever known in the history of the town.
II
“Your muffler—I’ll get it,” said Constance. “Cyril, run upstairs and get father’s muffler. You know the drawer.”
Cyril ran. It behoved everybody, that morning, to be prompt and efficient.
“I don’t need any muffler, thank you,” said Samuel, coughing and smothering the cough.
“Oh! But, Sam—” Constance protested.
“Now please don’t worry me!” said Samuel with frigid finality. “I’ve got quite enough—!” He did not finish.
Constance sighed as her husband stepped, nervous and self-important, out of the side-door into the street. It was early, not yet eight o’clock, and the shop still unopened.
“Your father couldn’t wait,” Constance said to Cyril when he had thundered down the stairs in his heavy schoolboy boots. “Give it to me.” She went to restore the muffler to its place.