Says I, firm as Bunker Hill, and as lofty, “They don’t enjoy it.”
Says he, “They do.”
Says I, “Elder Judas Wart, you tell me that agin, and I’ll know the reason why.”
“Why,” says he, “they have petitioned Congress to not meddle with the laws.”
Says I, “Can you tell me, Elder Judas Wart, can you tell me honestly that there wasn’t man’s influence lookin’ right out of that petition?”
“No, mum, there wuzn’t. They done it of their own wills and acords.”
Says I, firmly, “I don’t believe it. And if I did, it would only show to me the blightin’, corruptin’, influence of your belief.”
“Why,” says he, “some of our wimmen are the most active in our church—full of religious zeal.”
Says I, coolly, “All kinds of zeal hain’t religious zeal.” Says I, “The kind that makes a mother throw her child into the Ganges, and burn herself with the dead body of her husband—you can call it religious zeal, if you want to, but I call it fanatical frenzy.”
Says he, “They are perfectly happy in their belief.”