"I really can't say: there are very charming women there, Johns."
"I am afraid so," uttered the parson, dryly.
"By the way," said Maverick,—"you will excuse me,—but you will be having a family by and by,"—at which the parson fairly blushed,—"you must let me send over some little gift for your first boy; it sha'n't be one that will harm him, though it comes from our heathen side of the world."
"There's a gift you might bestow, Maverick, that I should value beyond price."
"Pray what is it?"
"Live such a life, my friend, that I could say to any boy of mine, 'Follow the example of that man.'"
"Ah," said Maverick, with his easy, infectious laugh, "that's more than I can promise. To tell the truth, Johns, I don't believe I could by any possibility fall into the prim, stiff ways which make a man commendable hereabout. Even if I were religiously disposed, or should ever think of adopting your profession, I fancy I should take to the gown and liturgy, as giving a little freer movement to my taste. You don't like to think of that, I'll wager."
"You might do worse things," said the parson, sadly.
"I know I might," said Maverick, thoughtfully; "I greatly fear I shall. Yet it's not altogether a bad life I'm looking forward to, Johns: we'll say ten or fifteen more years of business on the other side; marrying sometime in the interval,—certainly not until I have a good revenue; then, possibly, I may come over among you again, establish a pretty home in the neighborhood of one of your towns; look after a girl and boy or two, who may have come into the family; get the title of Squire; give fairly to the missionary societies; take my place in a good big family-pew; dabble in politics, perhaps, so that people shall dub me 'Honorable': isn't that a fair show, Johns?"
There was a thief in the candle, which the parson removed with the snuffers.