“Oh, you were talking of him, were you?”
“Sem 'ere says the biziness pize.”
“It must py, or people wouldn't do it,” said the man leaning over the fire.
“Down't you believe it. That little gime down't py. Cause why? Look at the bloomin' stoo the feller's in now. If they ketch 'im 'e'll get six months 'ard.”
“Then what's 'e been doin' it for? I down't see nothink in it if it down't py.”.
“Cause he believes in it, thet's why!—What do you think, sir?”
“I think the man has come by a just fall,” said John. “God will never use him again, having brought him to shame.”
“Must hev been a wrong un certingly,” said the man over the fire.
When John Storm awoke in his cubicle next morning he saw his way clearer. He would deliver himself up to the warrant that was issued for his arrest, and go through with it to the end. Then he would return to Glory a free man, and God would find work for him even yet, after this awful lesson to his presumption and pride.
“That feller as was took ter the awspital is dead,” said somebody in the kitchen, and then there was the crinkling of a newspaper.