Refusing a drink, the Colonel enquired, “What’s doing, Paul? Did I hear you on your native heath, the shorter Catechism? My dear Gaspard, if I am not an expert in Calvinistic theology, the fault is neither that of Paul nor of the shorter Catechism, for the last three years we have had almost daily exercises, Paul and I, in that most terrible and most remarkable book.” “Most remarkable, I grant you,” said Gaspard, whose love for theological discussion grew with each successive glass, “but one not easily absorbed by the unschooled Sassenach mind. Sleeman here, for instance, if I repeated to him the immortal and noble phrases which register the answer to the paralysing question, ‘What is effectual calling?’ would be as hopelessly befogged as if I were reciting a bit of the Koran in its original tongue.” Sleeman squirmed and was silent. When Gaspard was discoursing upon either art or theology he realised his hopeless inadequacy and had the wit to venture no contribution. All the same, it angered him and disturbed him not a little to have his postmortem career outlined for him in the calmly judicial and final manner affected by Paul. His obvious uneasiness under the process gave Gaspard unqualified delight. It was hard enough to be coolly assigned to hell by a youngster who was at no pains to conceal his entire approval of the Divine judgment in the case, but that this disturbing verdict should become the occasion of joyous mirth by his neighbour was, to say the least, irritating. Besides, the homely and relentless logic of some of the “Questions,” when rubbed in by the gleeful Gaspard, gave him some serious moments. But to the Colonel the whole scene was not without its disturbing and depressing elements. Gaspard, for all his cynical hilarity, had every symptom of nerve strain and exhaustion. He was in no condition to run neck and neck with the tough and seasoned Sleeman in a race for the last drop out of the whiskey bottle. It was to the Colonel too a horror that the boy should be forced to endure the sordid environment of a Sunday afternoon spent in so degrading a manner. The thing was obviously hateful to Paul. The boy’s whole manner showed high nervous tension, anxiety, even dread. But from the situation there appeared to the Colonel no escape. Paul would stick by his father, and the father was held in the grip of circumstances beyond his power to shake off.