"No," said Dr. Lavendar; "I'm obliged to you."
"What, temperance?" snarled the other.
"Well, I hope so," Dr. Lavendar said, "but not a teetotaler, if that's
what you mean. Only I don't happen to want any whiskey at five o'clock
in the afternoon."
At which his host swore softly, and lifting the decanter poured out
two good fingers.
"Mr. Wright," said Dr. Lavendar, "I will be obliged if you will not
swear in my presence."
"You needn't talk to me," cried Benjamin Wright, "I despise this
damned profanity there is about; besides, I am always scrupulously
particular in my language before females and parsons. Well;--I wanted
to see you, because that jack-donkey, Sam, my grandson, is causing me
some anxiety."
"Why, Sam is a good boy," Dr. Lavendar protested.
"Too good. I like a boy to be human at twenty-three. He doesn't know
the wickedness of the world."
"Thank God," said Dr. Lavendar.
"Dominie, ignorance ain't virtue."
"No; but it's a fair substitute. I wouldn't want one of my boys to be
able to pass an examination on wrong-doing."
"But you want him to recognize it when he sees it, don't you?"
"If he knows goodness, you can trust him to recognize the other thing.
Teach 'em goodness. Badness will label itself," "Doesn't follow," Benjamin Wright said. "But you're a parson; parsons
know about as much as females--good females. Look here! I have reasons
for saying that the boy ought to get out of Old Chester. I want your
assistance."
"Get out of Old Chester!--to see how wicked the world is?"
Mr. Wright shook his head. "No; he could see that here--only the puppy
hasn't got his eyes open yet. A little knocking about the world, such
as any boy ought to have, will open 'em. Living in Old Chester is
narrowing; very narrowing. Besides, he's got--well, he's got some
truck he's written. It isn't entirely bad, Lavendar, and he might as
well try to get it published, or, maybe, produced in some theatre. So
let him go and hunt up a publisher or a manager. Now, very likely,
his--his mother won't approve. I want you to urge--her, to let him
go."
"Travelling might be good for Sam," said Dr. Lavendar; "I admit that--
though not to learn the wickedness of the world. But I don't know that
it would be worth while to take a journey just on account of his
writing. He could put it in an envelope and mail it to a publisher;
he'd get it back just as soon," Dr. Lavendar said chuckling. "Look
here, what's the matter? I can see you're concerned about the boy."