“Oh, Conrad,” said the deacon, “you were brought up in darkness and error!  You don’t understand.  I’ve got that Sam Kimper on my mind so much that I’m just keeping our minister after him all the time.”

“Vell,” said the shopkeeper, “I tell you vat I’ll do, deacon.  You let your minister do all he can mit him, and ven he finds he can’t do noding yoost you come an’ tell me, an’ den I’ll send our priest after him.  He’s a good man.  You can’t say noding against him; you know you can’t.  Neider can anybody else in dis town.”

“No,” said the deacon, “I don’t mind saying, for I’ve said it a good many times before, that if Father Black belonged to my church, instead of the one he does, I couldn’t find a single thing to say or think against him.  He is certainly a very good man, and doing a great deal of good among a lot of people that I didn’t suppose ever could be kept out of mischief; but—­”

“But he didn’t keep ’em out of mischief in your vay.  Dat’s de trouble, isn’t it?  Come now, own up, like an honest man, and I von’t go tell nobody else about vat you say.  Own up, now; isn’t dat de trouble?  Dem people dat you talk about as behavin’ demselves is a good deal better dan some dat’s smarter and has got more money an’ more advantages an’ more friends, an’ dey don’t make nobody any trouble, an’ yet you ain’t satisfied mit ’em; an’ mit deir shurch, yoost because dey don’t do everyding your vay.”

“Conrad,” said the deacon, putting on a lofty air, “you’re a good man to do business with; you’re a respectable citizen, except that you sell rum.  But there’s some things you can’t understand, and it’s no use for me to waste time talking to you about them.  If your mind was clearer, if it had been enlightened in the true way, you would not be selling rum, for instance.”

“Vouldn’t I, dough?  Vell, I yoost vant you to understand dere’s no better business in dis town dan I am a-doin’ right in dis shop.  But if I didn’t tink it vas right, I vouldn’t be doin’ it at all.  You talk in dis country as if de rum-sellers vas de very vorst people in de vorld.  I vant you to understand over in my country, dat’s a good deal older dan dis, and vere de peoples has had a good deal more experience, a man don’t get no right to sell liquor unless he is a first-class citizen in every respect.  It’s a sign dat a man is honest an’ sensible an’ knows how to manage oder men, if he gets de right to sell liquor.  Dat’s more dan you can say about your business, Deacon Quickset.  Any rascal can go in de business dat you is doin’ now.”

“Well,” said the deacon, beginning to feel that he was on dangerous ground, “this wasn’t what we were talking about, anyhow.  We began to talk about Sam Kimper; and I want you to promise me that you won’t talk to anybody else about his needing liquor, and about his breaking down in the course of time unless he gets it.”

“Of course I von’t talk about it, deacon.  Do you s’pose I’m a fool?  Do you s’pose I vant to see people get drunk?  No, sir; people dat gets drunk don’t come to my shop.  Dey know dey couldn’t get anyding if dey did.”