"One of those dear, good creatures," chuckled the old fellow, "who go through life saying `Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,' and then feel so happy. Not a bit of the Pharisee about you, Max--all humble Publican. I say, why don't you build a church or a chapel? That's the proper thing to do. `Publican' put me in mind of it. It's what the brewers and distillers do. Make fortunes out of the vice and misery of the people, and then buy a seat in the heavenly Parliament by building a church--" "My dear Hopper," began Max. "And endowing it." "Will you listen to me, Hopper?" "They think they can cheat God with their sham repentance. Ha! ha! ha!--it's a rare joke, 'pon my word. Now, you know, Max, I'm just such a fool in my way, for I get thinking He'd have more respect for an honest old reprobate like me. But we shall see, Max, when we die--when we die; when you die, and the gravedigger puts you to bed with a shovel." A spasm seemed to shoot across the other's face at these last words. "I am an out-and-out bad one, you know, Max. I never go to chapel and hold the plate--never dip a little out of it, Max, in the vestry!" "Man, are you the Devil?" muttered Max. "Yes, if you like." "Then you are not deaf!" cried Max triumphantly. "Honestly; but I can read your lips as well as your heart, my dear friend. Devil? Because I know about that ugly bit of forgery for which you ought to have served your time." "Will you be silent?" cried Max, with an agonised look at the door. "No," said the other coolly. "Devil because I saw through the Uncle Rounce business? Perhaps I am," he continued, as he saw Max wince, "for I never believed in the Excelsior game--to go up higher--because it's so cold. I'm not a pure-minded man, Max, but would rather stay in the valley, and lay my head on the nice, pleasant, plump young woman's breast--so comfortable and cosy and warm. Eh, you dog--eh?" He poked Max with his stick as he spoke, and then chuckled at the other's horrified air. "I'm no cackle-spinner, like you, Max; I never went through the world saying it was all vanity and vexation of spirit, and a vale of tears; and howled hymns, declaring that I was sick of it, and wanted to die and get out of it as soon as I could, because it was such a wicked, wretched place. I never told people I had a call, like you did; and played shepherd in a white choker, and went and delivered addresses to the lost lambs outside the fold." "They'll hear you in the outer office," cried Max vainly, for Hopper went on:--