“You thought, sir,” said Mr. Lucre to the priest haughtily, “that he would have died an idolater.”
Bob squeezed Mr. Lucre's hand again.
“And you thought,” replied Father M'Cabe, “that he would die a Protestant or a heretic, which is the same thing.”
Bob squeezed Father M'Cabe's hand once more.
“Gentlemen,” said Bob, “be pleased to sit down—you are both Christian ministers, I hope.”
“No,” said Father M'Cabe, “there is but one of us a Christian; Mr. Lucre here is not worthy of the name, Bob.”
Bob squeezed the priest's hand a third time.
“Beatty,” said Mr. Lucre, “this is a solemn occasion, and I'm bound to say, that the priest here is merely a representative of Antichrist. This is not a time to disguise the truth.”
Bob squeezed Mr. Lucre's hand a third time also.
“Beatty,” continued Mr. Lucre, “if you permit yourself to die a Papist, you seal your own everlasting punishment.”