“Oh, she gits on. Barney Snaith always drops in when he’s passing and does anything she wants done. Brings her oranges and flowers and things. There’s a Christian for you. Yet that sanctimonious, snivelling parcel of St. Andrew’s people wouldn’t be seen on the same side of the road with him. Their dogs’ll go to heaven before they do. And their minister—slick as if the cat had licked him!”
“There are plenty of good people, both in St. Andrew’s and St. George’s, who would be kind to Cissy if you would behave yourself,” said Valancy severely. “They’re afraid to go near your place.”
“Because I’m such a sad old dog? But I don’t bite—never bit any one in my life. A few loose words spilled around don’t hurt any one. And I’m not asking people to come. Don’t want ’em poking and prying about. What I want is a housekeeper. If I shaved every Sunday and went to church I’d get all the housekeepers I’d want. I’d be respectable then. But what’s the use of going to church when it’s all settled by predestination? Tell me that, Miss.”
“Is it?” said Valancy.
“Yes. Can’t git around it nohow. Wish I could. I don’t want either heaven or hell for steady. Wish a man could have ’em mixed in equal proportions.”
“Isn’t that the way it is in this world?” said Valancy thoughtfully—but rather as if her thought was concerned with something else than theology.
“No, no,” boomed Abel, striking a tremendous blow on a stubborn nail. “There’s too much hell here—entirely too much hell. That’s why I get drunk so often. It sets you free for a little while—free from yourself—yes, by God, free from predestination. Ever try it?”
“No, I’ve another way of getting free,” said Valancy absently. “But about Cissy now. She must have some one to look after her——”
“What are you harping on Sis for? Seems to me you ain’t bothered much about her up to now. You never even come to see her. And she used to like you so well.”
“I should have,” said Valancy. “But never mind. You couldn’t understand. The point is—you must have a housekeeper.”