“‘Doctor give me some medicine; I fergit the name of it, but it is the stuff they use to blow up safes with.’
“‘Nitroglycerin! The very thing! I hope they will succeed in blowing up your safe.’
“I was pretty close to the old man, and was always very frank with him. He liked opposition, and was as fond of warfare as an Old Testament hero.
“‘What, sir?’ he asked.
“‘There are some folks that have got to be blowed up before you can get an old idea out of their heads,’ I went on. ‘They are locked up with rust. That’s what’s the matter with you, Deacon. Your brain needs to be blowed open an’ aired. You stored it full of ideas sixty years ago and locked the door for fear they’d get away. They should have been taken out and sorted over at least once a year, and some thrown into the fire to make room for better ones. If life does you any good, if it really teaches you anything, your brain must keep changing its contents.’
“The Deacon hammered the table with his cane, as he shouted:
“‘You cussed fool of a lawyer! Don’t you know that truth never changes? Truth, sir, is eternal.’
“Then I took the bat. ‘Truth often changes, but error is eternal,’ I said. ‘You know when you want to prove anything, 180 these days, you quote from the memoirs of a great man. Well, I was reading the memoirs of the late Doctor Godfrey Vogeldam Guph not long ago. He told of a man who was very singular, but not so singular as the doctor seemed to think. This man knew more than any human being has a right to know. He knew the plans of God, and had formed an unalterable opinion about all his neighbors. Then he locked up his mind and guarded it night and day, for fear that somebody would break in and carry off its contents. And it did seem as if people wanted to get hold of his treasure, for they often came and asked about it, and some even questioned its value. He said, “Away with you––truth is eternal, and my soul is full and I will part with none of it.”
“‘Meanwhile the truth about things around him began to change. Neighbor Smith became a good man. Neighbor Brown became a bad man. Priscilla 181 Jones, who had been a vain and foolish woman, was one of the saints of God. The foundations of the world had changed. In a generation it had grown millions of years older and different––wonderfully different! Even God himself had changed, it would seem. His methods were not as people had thought them. His character was milder. Everything had changed but this one man. Now when he died and came to St. Peter, the latter said to him: