“Say, Mr. Willis," said a red-haired lad of about fourteen, "I don't think there's any hell.”
“Yes you do, Arthur. You know right well there's a hell.”
“No I don't. The minister down at Barton Street church says there isn't any hell, and I don't believe there's one either.”
“Yes, you do. You know perfectly well there's a hell: and you know the wicked will be turned into it.”
“Well, anyway, I wish there wasn't a hell!”
Arthur was honest, and we fear that most of those who "don't believe in hell," if they were honest, would have to say the same thing as Arthur "I wish there wasn't a hell.”