Godfrey frowned at the touch of impertinence in the question which probed too deeply. He glanced distrustfully at his visitor.
“I’m afraid I’ve never considered the point,” he replied frostily. “Have you any special reason for putting it to me?”
Baltazar winced. “Only as a student of psychology. But I see you would rather continue to regard him as a legendary character?”
“Quite,” said Godfrey.
“You must forgive me, Mr. Baltazar,” said the father, with a smile. “I’m half orientalized and only beginning to attune myself to Western habits of thought. I lived for so many years in the interior of China that I almost lost the Western point of view. Well, there the basis of all religious and philosophic systems is filial piety. The whole moral and political system of the Empire has been reared on it for thousands of years. If you were a Chinaman, you would venerate your father, no matter what grievances you might have against him or how shadowy and legendary he might be.”
“But I’m not a Chinaman,” said Godfrey.
“Precisely. That’s where your typically Western point of view is of great interest to me. I hope, therefore, you see that the question I put to you, although it may be one of curiosity, is of philosophical and not idle curiosity.”
“I see,” replied Godfrey, smiling and mollified. “May I ask you which of the two attitudes you consider the most workable in practical life?”
“I told you just now,” said Baltazar, “that my mind was in process of adjustment.”
There came a slight pause. Godfrey broke it by suggesting politely that Mr. Burden must have found Cambridge greatly changed. Baltazar launched into vivid description of the toga giving way to arms. Eventually came to personalities. The death of Dr. Crosby’s only son.