"The Franciscan heaven," I admitted, and he winced a little. By which I knew, of course, that he was as yet no true Franciscan—who never winces, and whose conscience, to use a borrowed phrase, is merely his accomplice.
"Do you object to forty per cent?" he asked.
"Per se?" I answered, "not at all."
"But to the correspondence perhaps?"
"I'm not enamoured of the idea," I confessed. "Are you?"
He reached for the ash-tray, and knocked out his pipe.
"We must give 'em what they want, you know," he said.
I bowed.
"The Franciscan creed," I told him. "But perhaps they don't know yet that they do want it."