And all the time she
knows that most of the people--the people that do the work--are
suffering and dying. And she don't want to let that make her feel bad,
so she hires some fellow like your friend, the doctor, to preach to
'em--and maybe give 'em a turkey at Christmas. And that takes the
trouble off her mind. Don't you see?"
"Yes," said the other weakly. "I see."
"Or else," added Charlie, "take some of those smooth grafters they've
got up there--the men, I mean. They spend six days in the week cutting
other people's throats, and robbing the public. Don't you think it's
handy for them to know they can come on Sunday and drop a five-dollar-
bill in the plate, and square the whole account?"
Samuel sought for a reply to these cruel taunts. "I don't think you
put it quite fairly," he protested.
"Why not?" demanded the other.
"In the first place, men like that wouldn't go to church--"
Charlie stared at him. "What!" he exclaimed.
"No," said the boy.
"Why not?"
"Well, why should they care to go? And they wouldn't be welcome--"
Charlie burst into laughter. "You poor kid!" he exclaimed. "What have
you been doing up there at St. Matthew's, anyhow?"
"I'm the sexton's assistant," said Samuel gravely.
"Yes," said the other. "Evidently a sexton's assistant doesn't see
much of the congregation."
"I wish you'd explain," remarked the boy after a pause.
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