On his way home, in accordance with his usual custom, Slyme called at the Post Office to put some of his wages in the bank. Like most other “Christians”, he believed in taking thought for the morrow, what he should eat and drink and wherewithal he was to be clothed. He thought it wise to layup for himself as much treasure upon earth as possible. The fact that Jesus said that His disciples were not to do these things made no more difference to Slyme’s conduct than it does to the conduct of any other “Christian”. They are all agreed that when Jesus said this He meant something else: and all the other inconvenient things that Jesus said are disposed of in the same way. For instance, these “disciples” assure us that when Jesus said, “Resist not evil”, “If a man smite thee upon the right cheek turn unto him also the left”, He really meant “Turn on to him a Maxim gun; disembowel him with a bayonet or batter in his skull with the butt end of a rifle!” When He said, “If one take thy coat, give him thy cloak also,” the “Christians” say that what He really meant was: “If one take thy coat, give him six months’ hard labour.” A few of the followers of Jesus admit that He really did mean just what He said, but they say that the world would never be able to go on if they followed out His teachings! That is true. It is probably the effect that Jesus intended His teachings to produce. It is altogether improbable that He wished the world to continue along its present lines. But, if these pretended followers really think—as they say that they do—that the teachings of Jesus are ridiculous and impracticable, why continue the hypocritical farce of calling themselves “Christians” when they don’t really believe in or follow Him at all?
As Jesus himself pointed out, there’s no sense in calling Him “Lord, Lord” when they do not the things that He said.
This banking transaction finished, Slyme resumed his homeward way, stopping only to purchase some sweets at a confectioner’s. He spent a whole sixpence at once in this shop on a glass jar of sweets for the baby.
Ruth was not surprised when she saw him come in alone; it was the usual thing since Easton had become so friendly with Crass.
She made no reference to his absence, but Slyme noticed with secret chagrin that she was annoyed and disappointed. She was just finishing scrubbing the kitchen floor and little Freddie was sitting up in a baby’s high chair that had a little shelf or table fixed in front of it. To keep him amused while she did her work, Ruth had given him a piece of bread and raspberry jam, which the child had rubbed all over his face and into his scalp, evidently being under the impression that it was something for the improvement of the complexion, or a cure for baldness. He now looked as if he had been in a fight or a railway accident. The child hailed the arrival of Slyme with enthusiasm, being so overcome with emotion that he began to shed tears, and was only pacified when the man gave him the jar of sweets and took him out of the chair.
Slyme’s presence in the house had not proved so irksome as Easton and Ruth had dreaded it would be. Indeed, at first, he made a point of retiring to his own room after tea every evening, until they invited him to stay downstairs in the kitchen. Nearly every Wednesday and Saturday he went to a meeting, or an open-air preaching, when the weather permitted, for he was one of a little zealous band of people connected with the Shining Light Chapel who carried on the “open-air” work all the year round. After a while, the Eastons not only became reconciled to his presence in the house, but were even glad of it. Ruth especially would often have been very lonely if he had not been there, for it had lately become Easton’s custom to spend a few evenings every week with Crass at the Cricketers.
When at home Slyme passed his time playing a mandolin or making fretwork photo frames. Ruth had the baby’s photograph taken a few weeks after Slyme came, and the frame he made for it was now one of the ornaments of the sitting-room. The instinctive, unreasoning aversion she had at first felt for him had passed away. In a quiet, unobtrusive manner he did her so many little services that she found it impossible to dislike him. At first, she used to address him as “Mr” but after a time she fell naturally into Easton’s practice of calling him by his first name.
As for the baby, he made no secret of his affection for the lodger, who nursed and played with him for hours at a stretch.
“I’ll serve your dinner now, Alf,” said Ruth when she had finished scrubbing the floor, “but I’ll wait for mine for a little while. Will may come.”
“I’m in no hurry,” replied Slyme. “I’ll go and have a wash; he may be here then.”