“Oh, we don’t barter,” said the precise man, “at least Bibles; you had better depart.”
“Stay, brother,” said the man with the countenance of a lion, “let us ask a few questions; this may be a very important case; perhaps the young man has had convictions.”
“Not I,” I exclaimed; “I am convinced of nothing, and with regard to the Bible—I don’t believe—”
“Hey!” said the man with the lion countenance, and there he stopped. But with that “Hey!” the walls of the house seemed to shake, the windows rattled, and the porter whom I had seen in front of the house came running up the steps, and looked into the apartment through the glass of the door.
There was silence for about a minute—the same kind of silence which succeeds a clap of thunder.
At last the man with the lion countenance, who had kept his eyes fixed upon me, said calmly, “Were you about to say that you don’t believe in the Bible, young man?”
“No more than in anything else,” said I; “you were talking of convictions—I have no convictions. It is not easy to believe in the Bible till one is convinced that there is a Bible.”
“He seems to be insane,” said the prim-looking man; “we had better order the porter to turn him out.”
“I am by no means certain,” said I, “that the porter could turn me out; always provided there is a porter, and this system of ours be not a lie, and a dream.”
“Come,” said the lion-looking man, impatiently, “a truce with this nonsense. If the porter cannot turn you out, perhaps some other person can; but to the point—you want a Bible?”