"There's plenty of other posts during the day, Pa."
"That's true. One day or three days don't matter. But it shows how things are going. The Romans have been too cunning for us, Sam. The wiles of the Scarlet Woman are prevailing; honest, straightforward Protestants are being undermined."
"But think of the letters of sympathy we've 'ad since the great Ritualistic conspiracy has come up. The real hearty Protestants are as faithful as they ever were."
"Yes, they are," said Mr. Hamlyn reflectively; "we can always fall back on them, and we've got some thousands of names and addresses on the books. The League'll go on safe enough, there'll always be labourers in the vineyard and them as will pay the overseer his just dues. But it's 'ard, after the splendid success we've had, to sink down into a small commonplace affair with just a bare living. The real red-hot Protestants, who are really afraid of Rome and that, are so few! These disgusting newspapers been showing up everything and the lukewarm people have been falling away. All the real money is flowing back into Roman channels. If there were more really earnest Protestants we might keep on as good as ever. But there's not. We haven't sold a gross of Bloody Marys during the month. It's a pity we had to suppress the Confessional; that was a real seller—and did a lot of good," Mr. Hamlyn added as an afterthought.
"We couldn't well do no other after the 'int we got from the Vigilance people," said Sam.
"I suppose not. But it was a great pity."
"You're due at Malakoff House to-night, aren't you, Pa?"
"Yes, at seven. I'm very uneasy in my mind about Miss P., Sam."
"Gussie says she's worse than she knows herself. She hasn't been out of bed for a fortnight now."
"She's not long for this world, I'm afraid," Hamlyn answered. "While she's alive we are fairly safe. But when she's in Glory where shall we be?"