I was
curious to discover whether religion had done anything for him, and I
put the question to him in an indirect way. His answer was that
"some on 'em say there's a better world where everything will be put
right, but somehow it seemed too good to be true." That was his
reason for disbelief, and heaven had not the slightest effect on him.
He found out the room, and was one of our most constant friends.
Another friend was of a totally different type. His name was
Cardinal. He was a Yorkshireman, broad-shouldered, ruddy in the
face, short-necked, inclined apparently to apoplexy, and certainly to
passion. He was a commercial traveller in the cloth trade, and as he
had the southern counties for his district, London was his home when
he was not upon his journeys. His wife was a curious contrast to
him. She was dark-haired, pinched-up, thin-lipped, and always seemed
as if she suffered from some chronic pain or gnawing--not sufficient
to make her ill, but sufficient to make her miserable. They had no
children. Cardinal in early life had been a member of an orthodox
Dissenting congregation, but he had fallen away. He had nobody to
guide him, and the position into which he fell was peculiar.
Pages:
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105