“Saint Acetum it is who is forever repairing ze roof of ze Heaven. Can you not see him up there—far superior in altitude to all the angels of Heaven, and slowly feeling zat he is superior?”
But what had Saint Acetum to do with Mr. Blynn?
“Ho!” cried Bardek. “Mr. Blynn, he is so good! Like Saint Acetum he is worried zat ze roof of ze Heaven may fall down; so it is zat he is always fixing, fixing; and he will not listen even when ze good angels call to come down and be for a little time happy.... And you have not heard of Saint Acetum? Nom du nom! And you are not ashamed of zat?”
“Acetum?” repeated Bea. “What a funny name.”
“‘Acetum,’ it is ‘vinegar,’” Bardek explained. “Zat is Latin, Miss Bea, of which you know nothings, because you have gone to school—”
“Oh, we had Latin in school; didn’t we, Browny?”
“Zat is what I say,” nodded Bardek firmly. “You know nothings. What! You do not know about Saint Acetum, ze Vinegar Saint; you do not know—” Bardek burst suddenly into ironic laughter—“because it is I, Bardek, who have jus’ made him up out of my head!”
“Oh!” laughed Gorgas, somehow relieved at the thought that the Vinegar Saint was merely an invention of Bardek. “Allen Blynn, the Vinegar Saint! That is too funny!”
“So you see,” Bardek was exulting in his cleverness, “how she must beat her little drum, that Lady, to draw down Saint Acetum, who is always repairing ze roof of ze Heaven?”
Gorgas was sobered instantly. “Do you think that woman is trying to marry Mr. Blynn?” she asked anxiously.