Nicholas Pinhey, spotless and trim, with shining spectacles and a white apron, appeared and Mr. Trenchard briefly stated the situation. He was carrying a “cross,” the little tool used to hang the paper on the lines, and he tapped his points against the wall of the flat room as he uttered them.
“It seems Kellock, who is on holiday, has run away with Mrs. Dingle. I’ve just heard from him stating the facts as far as they may be supposed to concern me. He doesn’t seem to think it is anybody’s business but his own.”
“A man may be ill and not know it,” said Mr. Pinhey, “and he may be suffering from the sickness of sin and not know it. But we know it.”
“I’m not a sin-doctor—I’m a paper maker, Nicholas. And the sole question for me is whether Kellock comes back, or does not. He writes very decently, says he is prepared to justify his conduct if I feel it is any concern of mine, and adds that he will be well pleased to return if I want him.”
“Don’t let him slip, for the Lord’s sake,” begged Ernest Trood. “You’ll wait a month of Sundays before you’ll get another vatman in the same street as him. Vatmen will be as rare as curates very soon. He’s a most orderly chap and a rare worker, which the clever ones often are not, and a great believer in discipline. You may be sure, according to his lights, that he’s done the best for all parties in this matter of Medora Dingle.”
“How can you, Trood?” asked Mr. Pinhey indignantly. “And you call yourself a Christian man, for I’ve heard you do it.”
“The mistake you make, Nicholas, is to drag religion into a lot of things where it don’t belong,” answered Trood.
“There’s nothing where religion don’t belong,” declared the finisher, “and if that was understood and religion applied to every problem of living and working and dying, this world would be different from what it is.”
“The question is, of course, Ned Dingle,” explained Trenchard. “I don’t want to back up one man against the other or interfere in any way over their domestic affairs. I’m not here to probe and pry, but to make paper along with the rest of you. Both Ned and Jordan are very good fellows; but it’s quite clear they won’t see alike in this matter.”
“Don’t be too sure,” advised Mr. Trood. “Least said soonest mended, and for all anybody can swear to the contrary it may be a put-up thing. Of course Ned would have to pretend a lot of temper in that case—to blind the public eye; because if it got out that Kellock had agreed to take over his wife for the better happiness and understanding of all parties, the Law would step in very quick and queer their pitch. If these things were settled by common sense, the Law would lose money—the last thing it ever loses. But it may be like that—Kellock being such a shrewd and long-sighted man. So I should just keep Jordan and let Dingle say what he’s going to do. Ned’s not showing more feeling, so far, than the case demands. He may be thanking God in secret and be quite as religious-minded as Nicholas could wish.”