“For the simple reason, my good fellow,” replied Baltazar, “that, from what I have observed, the present condition of mankind—from China to Peru, as your newly found friend Dr. Johnson says—is putrescent. The best way in which we can serve mankind is to do what we’re doing now—to provide for the intellectual development of the future generation.”
“The proposition is unanswerable,” said Quong Ho. “But suppose, sir, for the sake of argument, that a philosophic observation of the civilized world as it is should result in the conclusion that, in the English idiom, it is proceeding fast to the devils—what is the duty of the man of high morality?”
“To let it go slap-dash,” said Baltazar. “The faster and surer, the better. For then the sooner will the eternal rhythm, the eternal principle of balance, assert itself. When a society is rushing down to Gadarene suicide——”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” interrupted the alert Quong Ho. “Gad—I do not understand the word.”
“Read the Gospel according to St. Mark to-morrow. You’ve heard of St. Mark?”
“You might as well ask me, sir, if I had heard of Confucius or Homer, or the immortal Todhunter of my childhood.”
Baltazar rubbed his brown thatch and turned his luminous grey eyes on his disciple.
“The immensity of your purview, Quong Ho, is only equalled by your lightning perception of landmarks. Anyhow, read St. Mark over again, and tell me your opinion of the swine of Gadara. For the moment, I’d have you know that you’ve interrupted my argument. I was saying that if everything’s going to the devil—that’s the correct idiom—not proceeding to devils——”
“May I make a note of it?” said Quong Ho, scribbling the phrase across his mathematical manuscript.
Baltazar rose from his chair by the long deal table and relit his pipe over the chimney of a lamp.