(Here followed an enthusiastic development of the perverse philosophy of Samuel Butler, which, in deference to my readers, I omit.  Mr. Gilbert took notes of the conversation in his pocketbook, and I am pleased to say that his heart was moved to a realization of his iniquity, for he was observed at the Public Library a few days later asking for a copy of The Way of All Flesh.  After inquiring at four libraries, and finding all copies of the book in circulation, he was compelled to buy one.  He never regretted doing so.)

“But I am forgetting my duties as host,” said Mifflin.  “Our dessert consists of apple sauce, gingerbread, and coffee.”  He rapidly cleared the empty dishes from the table and brought on the second course.

“I have been noticing the warning over the sideboard,” said Gilbert.  “I hope you will let me help you this evening?” He pointed to a card hanging near the kitchen door.  It read: 

     Always wash dishes
     immediately after meals
     it saves trouble

“I’m afraid I don’t always obey that precept,” said the bookseller as he poured the coffee.  “Mrs. Mifflin hangs it there whenever she goes away, to remind me.  But, as our friend Samuel Butler says, he that is stupid in little will also be stupid in much.  I have a different theory about dish-washing, and I please myself by indulging it.

“I used to regard dish-washing merely as an ignoble chore, a kind of hateful discipline which had to be undergone with knitted brow and brazen fortitude.  When my wife went away the first time, I erected a reading stand and an electric light over the sink, and used to read while my hands went automatically through base gestures of purification.  I made the great spirits of literature partners of my sorrow, and learned by heart a good deal of Paradise Lost and of Walt Mason, while I soused and wallowed among pots and pans.  I used to comfort myself with two lines of Keats: 

     ’The moving waters at their priest-like task
     Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores——­’

Then a new conception of the matter struck me.  It is intolerable for a human being to go on doing any task as a penance, under duress.  No matter what the work is, one must spiritualize it in some way, shatter the old idea of it into bits and rebuild it nearer to the heart’s desire.  How was I to do this with dish-washing?

“I broke a good many plates while I was pondering over the matter.  Then it occurred to me that here was just the relaxation I needed.  I had been worrying over the mental strain of being surrounded all day long by vociferous books, crying out at me their conflicting views as to the glories and agonies of life.  Why not make dish-washing my balm and poultice?

“When one views a stubborn fact from a new angle, it is amazing how all its contours and edges change shape!  Immediately my dishpan began to glow with a kind of philosophic halo!  The warm, soapy water became a sovereign medicine to retract hot blood from the head; the homely act of washing and drying cups and saucers became a symbol of the order and cleanliness that man imposes on the unruly world about him.  I tore down my book rack and reading lamp from over the sink.