“Humph?” cried Bones, after a pause. “Humph? Ever seen anything like it in Siam?”
“Who could have thought it!” cried Thrush. “Who could believe the devil such a fool—such an ass?”
“After all, Commissioner, it’s long been my opinion that the devil is a fool. We’ve flattered him too much; thought too highly of him. The devil’s a nincompoop. Humph?” said Bones.
“He must be; or could he ever have bought such a penn’orth as Jericho?” asked Thrush.
“Vulgar notion, Commissioner. The devil buys nobody: folks when they’ve a mind to it, give themselves away. The wonder is, some of ’em are taken even at a gift. Humph?”
“Wrong, Colonel, wrong; I’m certain of it, the devil’s a liberal, punctual dealer in the market, and when he buys outright, pays ready money for his goods. I wonder how much he’s given for Jericho? Who’d have thought that Doctor Faustus should come up again in our time! That hole in his heart accounts for the money in his pocket. Colonel Bones,”—cried Thrush, with sudden solemnity.
“Commissioner Thrush,” said Bones, sonorously responding.
“We owe a duty to society. We must expose this fiend,” exclaimed Thrush, rapping the table.
“Strip him to the world,” coincided Bones, “that the world may see through him. Humph?”
“Tear the demon from his gilded temple,” cried Thrush, eloquent in his indignation, “and appal mankind with the hideousness of wicked wealth.”