"You might look at worse men than him," flashed Mrs. Bindle with rising wrath.
"I might," replied Bindle, "and then again I might not."
"Look how he's got on!" challenged Mrs. Bindle.
After a few moments of silence Bindle remarked more to himself than to Mrs. Bindle:
"Gawd made me, an' Gawd made 'Earty; but in one of us 'E made a bloomer. If I'm right, 'Earty's wrong; if 'Earty's right, I'm wrong. If they 'ave me in 'eaven, they won't want 'Earty; an' if 'Earty gets in, well, they won't look at me."
Mrs. Bindle proceeded to gather up the plates.
"Thank you for that stoo," said Bindle as he tilted back his chair contentedly.
"You should thank God, not me," was the ungracious retort.
For a moment Bindle appeared to ponder the remark. "Some'ow," he said at length, "I don't think I should like to thank Gawd for stewed-steak-an'-onions," and he drew his pipe from his pocket and began to charge it.
"Don't start smoking," snapped Mrs. Bindle, rising from the chair and going over to the stove.