“That only makes it worse. I have heard him preach. Don’t you think a man who has no humor must be a bad man?”
“One moment, dear. Let me finish him. I was going to say, Archie, that if a mule was to kick that man just for fun, he would never know he was kicked.”
“That covers the ground. You should have edited a newspaper, Anne. Such vituperative qualities are wasted here.”
“Indeed, I think so,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, rising at the end of her luncheon. “It may amuse you, Archie, but for the boys it is bad, dear, bad.”
Upon this the twins, enchanted to hear of wickedness, became critically attentive to the matter, and for a moment refrained from their diet. Anne, a little vexed, smiled as her sister-in-law stood opposite, but made no other reply.
“I dare say it amuses you, my dear Anne.”
“But should it, dear, and at the cost of temptation to others? Go out, boys.” The twins went forth merry. “And—and, dear, don’t you think—?”
Between question and answer Lyndsay made swift retreat, with an explanatory cigar-case in his hand.
“Yes, I think, Margaret”; and then, the gray eyes lighting up, “I think, Margaret, that you do not always think. If you did, you would criticize that wicked Archie.”
“I admit your premise. Homicide applied to character is bad enough; but don’t you think that Archie ought to give up killing salmon?”
“You see it teaches the boys to be cruel. It is the sad beginning of murder. There is only a difference of degree in it. Suppose, now, a man kills a monkey, and then—you follow me, dear—and then—oh, do come here, Rose—and then he gets a shot somewhere in Africa at the missing link. You see where killing salmon lands you at last. Where shall we draw the line?”
Rose laughed, despite her mother’s face of puzzled yet obstinate gravity.
Anne rarely argued seriously with this sister-in-law, who, despite their differences, was very dear to her. Her delight was, like the cuttle-fish, so to obscure the whole atmosphere of a discussion with mistiness of vague analogy as to enable her to retreat with honor.
“Good gracious!” Margaret went on, fanning herself violently, as she did in all weather, and amuseingly indicating by her use of the fan her own moods, “what did I say to bring out all this nonsense? I think I—yes—what was it, Rose?”