“A wasted life,” mused Mr Beer. “An’ a man of great parts was Rix Parkinson. God never made such a thirst afore. He’ll have to lift that excuse at Judgment—not that excuses will alter the set of things there. Yet they’m a part of human nature come to think of it. Adam’s self began it. He ate of the tree, then said ’twas she. Drunkard Parkinson’s cruel thirst have driven him from bad to worse; and though he often had D.T.’s, he never was seen upon his knees. If I had to write his tombstone, that would be the rhyme of it,” said Mr Beer.
“’Tis wrong to admire him, but I never could help doing so,” confessed Sim. “As a sportsman myself, I always felt his cleverness. He’ve had many and many a bird as you bred, Matthew.”
“If he knows ought as would clear Daniel, I’ll forgive him all,” answered the old keeper.
“I hope to goodness it may be so,” replied Titus. “My ear will be quick to hear it, I promise you. And this I’d say: leave it to Mrs Sweetland’s good time. If poor Parkinson have got any dark thing to get off his conscience, he won’t want it brought to the light of day while yet he lives.”
“You make my flesh creep,” said Beer. “Why for don’t the man call parson to him? You can only hear; but parson can both hear and forgive.”
The ancient in the corner spoke again.
“Don’t you know no wiser than that rot? You read your Bible better, Johnny Beer, an’ you’ll very soon find that nobody can forgive sins but God alone. An’ I lay it takes Him all His holy time, with such a rotten world as this.”
“No politics,” said the man behind the bar. “No politics, an’ no religion, Mister Hext, if you please.”
“You’m getting too cross-grained to deal with, gaffer,” answered Mr Beer, mildly. “’Tis well known in a general way that the clergy have power to forgive sins; an’ ’tis a very proper accomplishment, come to think of it, for their calling. Now, for my part—”
In the yard a voice broke into Beer’s argument, and a venerable rhyme ascended from an ostler’s throat:—