"You seem to forget I am no Jacobite," I answered unpleasantly.
"Tut, tut, you shall be as stout a Jacobite as Prince Charles himself."
"Not I!"
He smiled.
"We'll leave that to Mistress Moira."
"Maybe you forget der Walrus," interposed Peter.
"Not so, Peter. I shall dispose of the Walrus within the next few hours."
"Andt Gott," added Peter as if Murray had not spoken.
My great-uncle laughed merrily.
"My dear Peter, men of judgment will inform you that there is no God—or, if we concede a God, there is every reason to assign a superior degree of power to the inevitable Devil representing the opposing virtue of godliness. Indeed, did I incline to bow down before any superhuman authority I should elect Satan by preference. But a ripe experience has inclined me to the view that the Devil is as much a figment of men's imaginations as God. Since the beginning of recorded time a priestly caste— But here we are drifting into a philosophical discussion; and as you very properly reminded me, the Walrus awaits our attention. Let us go on deck."