My father stamped the butt of his musket upon deck. "'Rested in the notion,' did it? Nothing of the sort, sir! It rested in the apple, which he was told not to eat; but, nevertheless, ate. Born a philosopher, was he? And knew the effect of every cause without knowing the difference between good and evil? Why, man, 'twas precisely against becoming a philosopher that the Almighty took pains to warn him!"
Mr. Badcock hastily turned a page.
"The image of God was no less resplendent in that which we call
man's practical understanding—namely, that storehouse of the
soul in which are treasured up the rules of action and the
seeds of morality. Now of this sort are these maxims: 'That
God is to be worshipped,' 'That parents are to be honoured,'
'That a man's word is to be kept.' It was the privilege of Adam
innocent to have these notions also firm and untainted—"
My father flung up both hands. "Oh! So Adam honoured his father and his mother?"
"Belike," suggested Billy Priske, scratching his head, "Eve was expecting, and he invented it to keep her spirits up."
"I assure you, sir," Mr. Badcock protested with dignity, "Dr. South was the most admired preacher of his day. Her late Majesty offered him the Deanery of Westminster."
"I could have found a better preferment for him, then; that of Select
Preacher to the Marines."
"If you will have patience, sir—"
"Prosper, how near is the leading boat?"
"A good mile away, sir, as yet."