But
secretly spying from a window, we have seen him, unaware of notice,
stroll (a little heavily and stiffly, for an old dog's legs grow
gouty) over to Gissing's kennel. With his tail slightly vibrant, he
conducts a dignified causerie. Unhappily, these talks are always
concluded by some breach of manners on Gissing's part. At first he
is respectful; but presently his enthusiasm grows too much for him;
he begins to leap and frolic and utter uncouth praises of things in
general. Then Mike turns soberly and moves away.

On such an occasion, the chat went like this:

GISSING: Do you believe in God?

MIKE: I acknowledge Him. I don't believe in Him.

GISSING: Oh, I think He's splendid. Hurrah! Hullabaloo! When He puts
on those old khaki trousers and smokes that curve-stem pipe I always
know there's a good time coming.

MIKE: You have made a mistake. That is not God. God is a tall,
placid, slender man, who wears puttees when He works in the garden
and smokes only cigarettes.

GISSING: Not at all. God is quite stout, and of uncertain temper,
but I adore Him.

MIKE: No one knows God at your age. There is but one God, and I have
described Him. There is no doubt about it, because He sometimes
stays away from the office on Saturdays. Only God can do that.

GISSING: What a glorious day this is. What ho! Halleluiah! I don't
suppose you know what fun it is to run round in circles. How
ignorant of life the older generation is.

MIKE: Humph.

GISSING: Do you believe in Right and Wrong? I mean, are they
absolute, or only relative?

MIKE: When I was in my prime Right was Right, and Wrong was Wrong. A
bone, buried on someone else's ground, was sacred. I would not have
dreamed of digging it up----

GISSING (_hastily_): But I am genuinely puzzled. Suppose a motor
truck goes down the road. My instinct tells me that I ought to chase
it and bark loudly. But if God is around He calls me back and
rebukes me, sometimes painfully. Yet I am convinced that there is
nothing essentially wrong in my action.

MIKE: The question of morals is not involved. If you were not so
young and foolish you would know that your God (if you so call Him,
though He is not a patch on mine) knows what is good for you better
than you do yourself. He forbids your chasing cars because you might
get hurt.

GISSING: Then instinct is not to be obeyed?

MIKE: Not when God is around.

GISSING: Yet He encourages me to chase sticks, which my instinct
strongl