one of his few remaining bottles of White Horse. Mr. Poodle crossed his legs and they chatted about golf, politics, the income tax, and some of the recent books; but when Gissing turned the talk on religion, Mr. Poodle became diffident. Gissing, warmed and cheered by the vital Scotch, was perhaps too direct.
“What ought I to do to 'crucify the old man'?” he said.
Mr. Poodle was rather embarrassed.
“You must mortify the desires of the flesh,” he replied. “You must dig up the old bone of sin that is buried in all our hearts.”
There were many more questions Gissing wanted to ask about this, but Mr. Poodle said he really must be going, as he had a call to pay on Mr. and Mrs. Chow.
Gissing walked down the path with him, and the curate did indeed set off toward the Chows'. But Gissing wondered, for a little later he heard a cheerful canticle upraised in the open fields.
He himself was far from gay. He longed to tear out this malady from his breast. Poor dreamer, he did not know that to do so is to tear out God Himself.
