You, Lasher, with your
soup-tickets and your choir-treats, think there's no room for me and my
fairy stories. I tell you, you may find yourself jolly well mistaken one
of these days. Yes, by C?sar, you may. How do you know what's best worth
doing? If you'd listened a little more to the things you were told when
you were a baby, you'd be a more intelligent man now."
"When I was a baby," said Mr. Lasher, incredulously, as though that were
a thing that he never possibly could have been, "my _dear_ Pidgen!"
"Ah, you think it absurd," said the other, a little cooler again. "But
how do you know who watched over your early years and wanted you to be a
dreamy, fairy tale kind of person instead of the cayenne pepper sort of
man you are. There's always some one there, I tell you, and you can have
your choice, whether you'll believe more than you see all your life or
less than you see. Every baby knows about it; then, as they grow older,
it fades and, with many people, goes altogether. He's never left _me_,
St. Christopher, you know, and that's one thing. Of course, the ideal
thing is somewhere between the two; recognise St.
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