“Now, that ain't got nothin' to do with it,” said Harvey irritably. “Don't you interrupt. If your aunt gets to chasin' me all round town an' back, pesterin' me for that money, I might as well give up bein' a saint right now an' go back in the junk business.”
“You don't have to be no saint, do you?” asked Lem resentfully.
“Yes, I do,” said Harvey. “You don't understand it, but I've been called. I've heard the call; callin' me to be a saint in this land where there ain't no saints. I've heard the call, Lem.”
“Where from?” Lem asked.
“From heaven; where do you think I'd get it from?” asked Harvey irritably. “The post-office? Do you s'pose it come in a registered letter, with a special delivery stamp on it? That ain't no way a saint gets called. I heard it in my heart, dod-baste it! like any other saint would hear it.”
“How long you goin' to be one?” Lem asked dismally.
“Why—why, forever. From now on. It ain't no job, Lem. It ain't no business. It's—it's a way of bein', like an angel is or a—a somethin' or other. When you're a saint you keep on bein' one. Once a saint, always a saint. Saints keep right on bein' saints forever, gettin' holier an' holier, an' workin' for mankind.”