HEREAFTER, INC.
Phineas Theophilus Potts, who would have been the last to admit and the first to believe he was a godly man, creaked over in bed and stuck out one scrawny arm wrathfully. The raucous jangling of the alarm was an unusually painful cancer in his soul that morning. Then his waking mind took over and he checked his hand, bringing it down on the alarm button with precise, but gentle, firmness. Would he never learn to control these little angers? In this world one should bear all troubles with uncomplaining meekness, not rebel against them; otherwise—But it was too early in the morning to think of that.
He wriggled out of bed and gave his thoughts over to the ritual of remembering yesterday’s sins, checking to make sure all had been covered and wiped out the night before. That’s when he got his first shock; he couldn’t remember anything about the day before—bad, very bad. Well, no doubt it was another trap of the forces conspiring to secure Potts’ soul. Tch, tch. Terrible, but he could circumvent even that snare.
There was no mere mumbling by habit to his confession; word after word rolled off his tongue carefully with full knowledge and unctuous shame until he reached the concluding lines. “For the manifold sins which I have committed and for this greater sin which now afflicts me, forgive and guide me to sin no more, but preserve me in righteousness all the days of my life. Amen.” Thus having avoided the pitfall and saved himself again from eternal combustion, he scrubbed hands with himself and began climbing into his scratchy underclothes and cheap black suit. Then he indulged in a breakfast of dry toast and buttermilk flavored with self-denial and was ready to fare forth into the world of temptation around him.
The telephone jangled against his nerves and he jumped, grabbing for it impatiently before he remembered; he addressed the mouthpiece contritely. “Phineas Potts speaking.”
It was Mr. Sloane, his lusty animal voice barking out from the receiver. “ ’Lo, Phin, they told me you’re ready to come down to work today. Business is booming and we can use you. How about it?”
“Certainly, Mr. Sloane. I’m not one to shirk my duty.” There was no reason for the call that Potts could see; he hadn’t missed a day in twelve years. “You know—”
“Sure, okay. That’s fine. Just wanted to warn you that we’ve moved. You’ll see the name plate right across the street when you come out—swell place, too. Sure you can make it all right?”
“I shall be there in ten minutes, Mr. Sloane,” Phineas assured him, and remembered in time to hang up without displaying distaste. Tch, poor Sloane, wallowing in sin and ignorant of the doom that awaited him. Why, the last time Phineas had chided his employer—mildly, too—Sloane had actually laughed at him! Dear. Well, no d
