“Bah! That’s nonsense! Why, the man’s a pitiful old drunkard! You give him credit for too fine feelings.”
“And you do not seem to give him credit for any feelings. Even a drunkard may have fine feelings at times.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Perhaps so! I know it. It is drink that degrades and lowers the man. When he is sober, he may be kind, gentle and lovable.”
“Well, I haven’t much patience with a man who will keep himself filled with whisky.”
Frank opened his lips to say something, but quickly changed his mind, knowing he must cut Hodge deeply. He longed, however, to say that the ones most prone to err and fall in this life are often the harshest judges of others who go astray.
“I ruther pity the pore critter,” said Ephraim; “but I don’t b’lieve he’ll ever make ennyboddy larf in the world. He looks too much like a funeral.”
“That is the very thing that should make them laugh, when he has his make-up on. I have seen the burlesque tragedian overdone on the stage, so that he was nauseating; but I believe Burns can give the character just the right touch.”
“Well, if you firmly believe that, it’s no use to talk to you, for you’ll never change your mind till you have to,” broke out Hodge. “I have seen a sample of that in the way you deal with your enemies. Now, there was Leslie Lawrence——”
“Let him rest in peace,” said Frank. “He is gone forever.”