“But what the devil do they think they're up to, anyhow?” roared old Hatherleigh suddenly, dropping plump into bottomless despair.
We felt we had still failed to get at the core of the mystery of the Pinky Dinky.
We tried over things about his religion. “The Pinky Dinky goes to King's Chapel, and sits and feels in the dusk. Solemn things! Oh HUSH! He wouldn't tell you—”
“He COULDN'T tell you.”
“Religion is so sacred to him he never talks about it, never reads about it, never thinks about it. Just feels!”
“But in his heart of hearts, oh! ever so deep, the Pinky Dinky has a doubt—”
Some one protested.
“Not a vulgar doubt,” Esmeer went on, “but a kind of hesitation whether the Ancient of Days is really exactly what one would call good form.... There's a lot of horrid coarseness got into the world somehow. SOMEBODY put it there.... And anyhow there's no particular reason why a man should be seen about with Him. He's jolly Awful of course and all that—”
“The Pinky Dinky for all his fun and levity has a clean mind.”
“A thoroughly clean mind. Not like Esmeer's—the Pig!”