other. "Are n't you rather lucky to have such good credit?"
"Well, that's what I think," said the colonel, throwing back his head and laughing like an old prince in whom the joy of life and the desire of the eyes still burned strong; "but Viola thinks credit is a trap set by the king of all the devils."
"Women are apt to be cautious about that sort of thing."
"I don't know about all women, but Viola is. She is more afraid of credit than she is of smallpox. But I say to her: 'My dear, look where we would have been without it! And as long as these good, charitable souls will give us food and drink for nothing, for goodness' sake let them do it. Don't let 's try and suppress such a worthy impulse.' Not, of course," said the colonel, growing suddenly grave and squaring his shoulders, "that we don't intend to pay them. We always do. Sometimes, it is true, we 're rather slow about it; but eventually things are squared off to everybody's satisfaction. How else could we have the credit?"
He asked this question with an air of triumph that, to the listener, seemed to have something in it of conscious cunning. Gault answered with a commonplace about the advantage of inspiring so great a trust in the vulgar mind. The colonel was openly gratified.
