“It must be,” said Ascher, “very hard to be a Christian.”
I was not going to discuss that point with Ascher. It was bad enough to have an artistic soul awakened in me by Mrs. Ascher. I could not possibly allow her husband to lead me to the discovery that I had the other kind of soul. Nor was it any business of mine to work out harmonies between Christian ethics and the principles of modern banking. I detest puzzles of all kinds. It is far better, at all events far more comfortable, to take life as one finds it, a straightforward, commonplace affair. I have the greatest respect for Christianity of a moderate, sensible kind and I subscribe to the funds of the Church of Ireland. But when it comes to practical matters I find myself in agreement with Wordsworth’s “Rob Roy,”
The good old rule
Sufficeth me, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power
And they should keep who can.
So long, of course, as one does not do anything shady. I do not like lying or theft.
Ascher sat looking at me as if he expected me to tell him exactly how hard it is to be a Christian. I made a determined effort to get back again to cash registers.
“Tim Gorman’s invention will get its chance then?”
“Yes. If we can manage it the thing will get its chance. It will be made and, I think, people will use it.”
“Mrs. Ascher will be very pleased to hear that.”
“Ah,” said Ascher. “Is she interested? But I remember now. Young Gorman has been sitting to her. She would naturally be interested in him.”
“Her idea,” I said, “is that Tim Gorman is producing a baby, with all the usual accompaniments of that difficult business, labour, you know, and pain. She regards you as the doctor in attendance, and she thinks it would be exceedingly wrong of you to choke the little thing.”