“Oh, not as bad as that!” said Bruce, surprised at Henderson’s unwonted earnestness. “There must be a lot of people who are troubled about the state of their souls—who have some sort of ideals but are ashamed to haul them out!”
“Ashamed is the word!” Henderson affirmed. “We’re afraid of being kidded if anybody sneaks up on us and catches us admiring the Ten Commandments or practicing the Christian virtues! Now I know the rattle of all the skeletons in all the closets in this town. If they all took a notion to trot up and down our main thoroughfares some moonlit evening they’d make quite a parade. You understand I’m not sitting in judgment on my fellow man; I merely view him at times like this, when I’m addressing a man of intellect like you, with a certain cheerful detachment. And I see things going on—and I take part in them—that I deplore. I swear I deplore them; particularly,” he went on with a grim smile, “on days when I’m suffering from a severe case of hang-overitis.”
“You must have been on a roaring tear last night. You have all the depressing symptoms.”
“A cruel injustice! I’m never terribly wicked. I drink more than I need at times and I flirt occasionally to keep my hand in. Maybelle doesn’t mind if I wander a little, but when she whistles I’m right back at my own fireside pretending nothing happened.”
“I’ll wager you do!” laughed Bruce.
“Right now,” Henderson went on, “I can see a few people we both know who are bound to come a cropper if they don’t mind their steps. There’s Connie Mills. Not a bad sort, Connie, but a little bit too afraid she isn’t having as much fun as she’s entitled to. And Shep—the most high-minded, unselfish fellow I know—he, poor nut, just perishing for somebody to love him!”
“What sort of a chap’s George Whitford?” Bruce asked.
“First class,” Bud answered promptly. “A real fellow; about the best we’ve got. Something of the soldier of fortune about him. A variety of talents; brilliant streak in him. Why do you ask? George getting on your preserves?”
“Lord, no! I was just wondering whether you’d knock him. I like him myself.”
“Well, nearly everyone does. He appeals to the imagination. Just a little too keen about women, however, for his own good.”