“It's a devil of a muddle, isn't it?” said Matthew at last.
“What?”
“The cosmos. And the more one tries to establish order, the worse confounded becomes the confusion. The high gods seem to have given it up as a bad job.”
“That reminds me,” said Sylvester, with a laugh. “I found Billings to-day having a glorious drunk on champagne. For a man earning twenty-five shillings a week, with a large family to support and a wife half dying of pneumonia, I thought it rather strong.”
Matthew rose from his chair, his brows bent and his eyes kindling with sudden anger.
“The damned hound! What did you do with him?”
“I took him outside so as not to disturb his wife and then I kicked him until he was sober,” replied Sylvester, grimly. “I wonder who could have sent the champagne.”
“Some silly fool,” said Matthew, nursing his wrath.
“Yet nearer to heaven than most of us,” said Sylvester, knocking the ash off his cigar.
“Rubbish!” said Matthew. “Besides, silly fools don't go to heaven. There's no place for 'em.”