“For my part I’m altogether with him,” said Mr. Dad. “If there is no immortal life—well, what’s the good of being temperate and decent and careful for five and fifty years?”
Sir Eliphaz had decided now to drop all apologetics for the scheme of Nature.
“A place of trial, a place of stimulus and training,” he said, “Respice finem. The clues are all—beyond.”
“But if you really consider this world as a place for soul making,” said Mr. Huss, “what do you think you are doing when you propose to turn Woldingstanton over to Farr?”
“At any rate,” said Farr tartly, “we do not want soul-blackening and counsels of despair at Woldingstanton. We want the boys taught to serve and help first in this lowly economic sphere, cheerfully and enterprisingly, and then in higher things, before they pass on—”
“If death ends all, then what is the good of trying?” Mr. Dad said, still brooding over the question. “If I thought that—!”
He added with deep conviction, “I should let myself go.... Anyone would.”
He blew heavily, stuck his hands in his pockets, and sat more deeply in his chair, an indignant man, a business man asked to give up something for nothing.
For a moment the little gathering hung, only too manifestly contemplating the spectacle of Mr. Dad amidst wine, women, and waistcoats without restraint, letting himself go, eating, drinking, and rejoicing, being a perfect devil, because on the morrow he had to die....
“Immortal,” said Mr. Huss. “I did not expect immortality to come into this discussion....