And Dr. Lavendar accepted the lip-salve, and thanked Algy warmly; then he said that the picture on the lid of the tight-waisted lady was very striking.
"That's so!" cried Algy. "She's a beauty. She makes me think of Mary."
Algernon had presented Dr. Lavendar with a cigar, and the old minister was smoking it in great comfort, his feet on the base of a rusty, melon-shaped iron stove; Algy was leaning back against the counter, his elbows on the show-case behind him. "Dr. Lavendar," he said, looking at the toe of his boot, "I—got something on my mind."
"Well, off with it, quick as you can."
"I've been thinking about the Day of Judgment."
"Ho!" said Dr. Lavendar.
"Well, sir, I get to thinking: if everybody's sins are to be read out loud before all the world—standing up, rows and rows and rows of 'em. Can't see the end of 'em—so many. I kind a' hate to think that Mary might hear—things about me."
"Well, Keen," said Dr. Lavendar, slowly, "I don't believe it will be that way." He hesitated a little. After all, it is a risk to take away even a false belief, unless you can put a true one in its place.
Algy stopped looking at the toe of his boot. "What!" said he.
"Now just look at it," said Dr. Lavendar. "Who would be the better for that kind of publicity? Good people wouldn't like it; it would pain them. You say yourself that Mary wouldn't like to hear that you did wrong three times."