"I think, my friend--" began the second remaining minister.
"Look at that good woman there!" cried Jock-at-a-Venture, interrupting
him with a dramatic out-stretching of the right arm, as he pointed to a
very stout but comely dame, who, seated on a three-legged stool, was
calmly peeling potatoes in front of one of the more resplendent booths.
"Look at that face! Is there no virtue in it? Is there no hope for
salvation in it?"
"None," Jock's pastor replied mournfully. "That woman--her name is
Clowes--is notorious. She has eight children, and she has brought them
all up to her trade. I have made inquiries. The elder daughters are
actresses and married to play-actors, and even the youngest child is
taught to strut on the boards. Her troupe is the largest in the
Midlands."
Jock-at-a-Venture was certainly dashed by this information.
"The more reason," said he, obstinately, "for saving her!... And all
hers!"
The two ministers did not want her to be saved. They liked to think of
the theatre as being beyond the pale. They remembered the time, before
they were ordained, and after, when they had hotly desired to see the
inside of a theatre and to rub shoulders with wickedness.
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