And if the President,
himself a Catholic, could be brought to share this view, then he,
Freddy Parker, could snap his fingers at the machinations of Senor
Vergara's successor.
He decided to show some signs of devotion to what he had been
accustomed to call the grossest of superstitions; to reveal symptoms of
latent Roman proclivities. Grief seemed to have sharpened his wits, for
an inspiration came to him. After the sordid and melancholy details of
the funeral had been discussed yet again--it was to take place as soon
as ever the state of the sky would allow of it--Mr. Parker, pointing to
the blackened world outside, made an oracular remark.
"Something must be done," he said.
His companion agreed, very heartily. But soon he drew a deep sigh. How
could a volcanic eruption be stopped? In other words, what must be
done?
"Let me suggest something, parroco. Why not organize a procession at
once, a penitential procession? Such things take place during eruptions
on the mainland. Why not here?"
It was the most tactful and diplomatic proposal that the Commissioner
had ever made.
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