Anthony drew up a chair and sat down between the two.
“Nothing you want to talk about, is there?” he asked. The old man knew what he meant. He shook his head.
“Been talking about it or listening to it, on and off, pretty well all my life,” he answered. “Never got any further.”
He was silent a while, wrestling with his pain.
“Of course, I believe in a God,” he said. “There must be Somebody bossing it all. It’s the things they tell you about Him that I’ve never been able to swallow. Don’t fit in with common sense to my thinking.”
“You’re not afraid?” Anthony asked him after a silence.
“Why should I be?” answered the old man. “He knows me. He ain’t expecting anything wonderful. If I’m any good maybe He’ll find me a job. If not——”
Old Simon had crept closer. They were looking into each other’s eyes.
“Wonder if there’ll be any dogs?” he said. “Don’t see why there shouldn’t. If love and faithfulness and self-forgetfulness are going to be of any use to Him, what’s wrong with you, old chap?”