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I do fancy Jockey Club for special times, an' I've got a reasonable hope of salvation, too. I notice your cousin, Mrs. Vere, has scent on her handkerchief week days as well as when she's goin' somewhere, so I guess you don't hold with the Rev'rund Michell in New York?" I laughed with her as I took up the bag of eggs. "Did the runaway sister leave any children?" I queried.
"Not a Michell alive anywhere," she asserted positively. "Dead, all dead! The Rev'rund was buried at his mission in some outlandish place. An' if those heathen women dress like I've seen in the movin' picture palace in the village, I don't know how he makes out to rest with them flauntin' past his grave!" I went thoughtfully out to the car.
He was a hard man on the sinner. Preached hell and damnation all his days, he did. Lean over the pulpit, he would, his eyes flamin' fire an' his tongue shrivellin' folks in their pews, I can tell you!" "He left children?" I asked. "No, sir! Rev'rund never married. He felt women a snare. Land, not much snarin' with what farm women get to wear around here!
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