"Don't want one. Wouldn't have no use for it. After those folks'd seen their epitaphs I'd writ 'em, if they didn't do what was decent—"
"A—I was referring," Thaddeus insinuated, "to myself."
"You were!" Mr. Paulus reflected, dropped his eyelid, and grew a shade more cheerful. "Moral justification! Well—I caught Cummings's boy stealin' plug tobacco th' other day. An' he said he wanted it for Halligan. Guess he did. Likely Halligan give him three cents for a five-cent plug. He looked the picture of virtue, anyhow; said he never chawed: he wa'n't up to no such viciousness. Moral justification! It's a good thing."
Thaddeus smiled absently, pursed his lips, and was silent.
"Pete," he said at last, "how does green paint feel?"
Mr. Paulus's gloom faded away, and his interest, his love of life, came gently back.
"Wet," he said, thoughtfully. "Gets stiff after dryin'."
"Ah," murmured Thaddeus, "exactly."