Phineas Flathers, after months of abstinence, had reached that period
where he felt that not only his constitution, but his profession would
profit by a temporary fall from grace. Solicitude for his moral
welfare was beginning to flag at the Church; his regular attendance,
his apparent absorption in the sermon, and his emotional execution of
the hymns, all went to lift him from the class of interesting
converts, to the deadly commonplace of regular members. Only that
afternoon he had decided to revive interest in his case at any cost.
He had just treated others, as he would have others treat him at the
Cant-Pass-It, when he was summoned home to see his sister.
He now presented himself in his own doorway, a hand on either side of
the jamb, and bowed profoundly:
"Miss Flathers! Pleased to meet you! I see you still continue to favor
yourself in looks. Lost your place, I suppose?"
"That's right, be insultin'!" Myrtella flared up haughtily; "throw it
in my face that I'm hard to please, and ain't willin' to put up with
any old place I come to."
"Now I wouldn't put it that I was throwing it in yer face exactly,"
began Phineas, anxious to propitiate.
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