"No; she wouldn't," Algernon said.
"Wicked people might enjoy it," Dr. Lavendar ruminated, "but—"
—"but God don't cater to the wicked?" Algy finished, quickly.
"That's just it," said Dr. Lavendar. "He doesn't. But I tell you what it is, Algy, it is painful enough to just have your Saviour tell you your sins when you're sitting all alone—or, maybe, lying awake in the dark; that's a dreadful time to hear them. It's worse than having rows of people listening."
Algernon nodded. "Maybe you're right," he said, sighing.
The birth of a soul is a painful process. But when he went away Dr. Lavendar's eyes were full of hope.
And he grew more hopeful when, as the next year came round and Algernon again asked for extension, he was able to carry back, not only the note and the interest to John Gordon, but a payment of $24. What that $24 meant of self-denial and perseverance Dr. Lavendar knew almost as well as Algy himself.
"I don't know whether you meant it, John," he said, as the old man took the note and locked it up in the japanned box—"I don't know that it was your intention, but I believe the responsibility of debt is going to make a man of Mary's husband."
"Debt doesn't generally work that way," Mr. Gordon said.
"No; it doesn't. But He maketh the wrath of man to praise Him, once in a while, Johnny."