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Coffee and Repartee

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<h2>XI</h2> "Do you believe, Mr. Whitechoker," said the Idiot, taking his place at the table, and holding his plate up to the light, apparently to see whether or not it was immaculate, whereat the landlady sniffed contemptuously—"do you believe that the love of money is the root of all evil?" <div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/image022.png" width-obs="560" height-obs="400" alt=""HOLDING HIS PLATE UP TO THE LIGHT"" title=""HOLDING HIS PLATE UP TO THE LIGHT"" /> "HOLDING HIS PLATE UP TO THE LIGHT"</div> "I have always been of that impression," returned Mr. Whitechoker, pleasantly. "In fact, I am sure of it," he added. "There is no evil thing in this world, sir, that cannot be traced back to a point where greed is found to be its main-spring and the source of its strength." "Then how do you reconcile this with the scriptural story of the forbidden fruit? Do you think the apples referred to were figures of speech, the true import of which was that Adam and Eve had their eyes on the original surplus?" "Well, of course, there you begin to—ah—you seem to me to be going back to the—er—the—ah—" "Original root of all evil," prompted the Idiot, calmly. "Precisely," returned Mr. Whitechoker, with a sigh of relief. "Mrs. Smithers, I think I'll have a dash of hot-water in my coffee this morning." Then, with a nervous glance towards the Idiot, he added, addressing the Bibliomaniac, "I think it looks like rain." "Referring to the coffee, Mr. Whitechoker?" queried the Idiot, not disposed to let go of his victim quite so easily. "Ah—I don't quite follow you," replied the Minister, with some annoyance. "You said something looked like rain, and I asked you if the thing you referred to was the coffee, for I was disposed to agree with you," said the Idiot. "I am sure," put in Mrs. Smithers, "that a gentleman of Mr. Whitechoker's refinement would not make any such insinuation, sir. He is not the man to quarrel with what is set before him." "I ask your pardon, madam," returned the Idiot, politely. "I hope that I am not [Pg 105]the man to quarrel with my food, either. Indeed, I make it a rule to avoid unpleasantness of all sorts, particularly with the weak, under which category we find your coffee. I simply wish to know to what Mr. Whitechoker refers when he says 'it looks like rain.'" "I mean, of course," said the Minister, with as much calmness as he could command—and that was not much—"I mean the day. The day looks as if it might be rainy." "Any one with a modicum of brain knows what you meant, Mr. Whitechoker," volunteered the School-master. "Certainly," observed the Idiot, scraping the butter from his toast; "but to those who have more than a modicum of brains my reverend friend's remark was not entirely clear. If I am talking of cotton, and a gentleman chooses to state that it looks like snow, I know exactly what he means. He doesn't mean that the day looks like snow, however; he refers to the cotton. Mr. Whitechoker, talking about coffee, chooses to state that it looks like rain, which it undoubtedly does. I, realizing that, as Mrs. Smithers says, it is not the gentleman's habit to attack too violently the food which is set before him, manifest some surprise, and, giving the gentleman the benefit of the doubt, afford him an opportunity to set himself right." "Change the subject," said the Bibliomaniac, curtly. "With pleasure," answered the Idiot, filling his glass with cream. "We'll change the subject, or the object, or anything you choose. We'll have another breakfast, or another variety of biscuits frappé—anything, in short, to keep peace at the table. Tell me, Mr. Pedagog," he added, "is the use of the word 'it,' in the sentence 'it looks like rain,' perfectly correct?" "I don't know why it is not," returned the School-master, uneasily. He was not at all desirous of parleying with the Idiot. "And is it correct to suppose that 'it' refers to the day—is the day supposed to look like rain?—or do we simply use 'it' to express a condition which confronts us?" "It refers to the latter, of course." "Then the full text of Mr. Whitechoker's remark is, I suppose, that 'the rainy condition of the atmosphere which confronts us looks like rain?'" "Oh, I suppose so," sighed the School-master, wearily. "Rather an unnecessary sort of statement that!" continued the Idiot. "It's something like asserting that a man looks like himself, or, as in the case of a child's primer— <div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/image023.png" width-obs="368" height-obs="634" alt=""'I BELIEVE YOU'D BLOW OUT THE GAS IN YOUR BED-ROOM'"" title=""'I BELIEVE YOU'D BLOW OUT THE GAS IN YOUR BED-ROOM'"" /> "'I BELIEVE YOU'D BLOW OUT THE GAS IN YOUR BED-ROOM'"</div> "'See the cat?' "'Yes, I see the cat.' "'What is the cat?' "'The cat is a cat. Scat cat!'" At this even Mrs. Smithers smiled. "I don't agree with Mr. Pedagog," put in the Bibliomaniac, after a pause. Here the School-master shook his head warningly at the Bibliomaniac, as if to indicate that he was not in good form. "So I observe," remarked the Idiot. "You have upset him completely. See how Mr. Pedagog trembles?" he added, addressing the genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed. "I don't mean that way," sneered the Bibliomaniac, bound to set Mr. Whitechoker straight. "I mean that the word 'it,' as em[Pg 108]ployed in that sentence, stands for day. The day looks like rain." "Did you ever see a day?" queried the Idiot. "Certainly I have," returned the Bibliomaniac. "What does it look like?" was the calmly put question. The Bibliomaniac's impatience was here almost too great for safety, and the manner in which his face colored aroused considerable interest in the breast of the Doctor, who was a good deal of a specialist in apoplexy. "Was it a whole day you saw, or only a half-day?" persisted the Idiot. "You may think you are very funny," retorted the Bibliomaniac. "I think you are—" "Now don't get angry," returned the Idiot. "There are two or three things I do not know, and I'm anxious to learn. I'd like to know how a day looks to one to whom it is a visible object. If it is visible, is it tangible? and, if so, how does it feel?" "The visible is always tangible," asserted the School-master, recklessly. "How about a red-hot stove, or manifest indignation, or a view from a mountain-top, or, as in the case of the young man in the novel who 'suddenly waked,' and, 'looking anxiously about him, saw no one?'" returned the Idiot, imperturbably. "Tut!" ejaculated the Bibliomaniac. "If I had brains like yours, I'd blow them out." "Yes, I think you would," observed the Idiot, folding up his napkin. "You're just the man to do a thing like that. I believe you'd blow out the gas in your bedroom if there wasn't a sign over it requesting you not to." And filling his match-box from the landlady's mantel supply, the Idiot hurried from the room, and soon after left the house. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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