VIII
It was Sunday morning, and Mr. Whitechoker, as was his wont on the firstday of the week, appeared at the breakfast table severe as to his mien.
"Working on Sunday weighs on his mind," the Idiot said to theBibliomaniac, "but I don't see why it should. The luxury of restthat he allows himself the other six days of the week is surely anatonement for the hours of labor he puts in on Sunday."
But it was not this that on Sunday mornings weighed on the mind of theReverend Mr. Whitechoker. He appeared more serious of visage then becausehe had begun to think of late that his fellow-boarders lived too much inthe present, and ignored almost totally that which might be expected tocome. He had been revolving in his mind for several weeks the question asto whether it was or was not his Christian duty to attempt to influencethe lives of these men with whom the chances of life had brought him incontact. He had finally settled it to his own satisfaction that it washis duty so to do, and he had resolved, as far as lay in his power, todirect the conversation at Sunday morning's breakfast into spiritualrather than into temporal matters.
So, as Mrs. Pedagog was pouring the coffee, Mr. Whitechoker began:
"Do you gentlemen ever pause in your every-day labors and thought to letyour minds rest upon the future--the possibilities it has in store forus, the consequences which--"
"No mush, thank you," said the Idiot. Then turning to Mr. Whitechoker, headded: "I can't answer for the other gentlemen at this board, but I canassure you, Mr. Whitechoker, that I often do so. It was only last night,sir, that my genial friend who imbibes and I were discussing the futureand its possibilities, and I venture to assert that there is no moreprofitable food for reflection anywhere in the larders of the mind thanthat."
"Larders of the mind is excellent," said the School-Master, with a touchof sarcasm in his voice. "Perhaps you would not mind opening the door toyour mental pantry, and letting us peep within at the stores you keepthere. I am sure that on the subject in hand your views cannot fail to beoriginal as well as edifying."
"I am also sure," said Mr. Whitechoker, somewhat surprised to hear theIdiot speak as he did, having sometimes ventured to doubt if thatflippant-minded young man ever reflected on the serious side of life--"Iam also sure that it is most gratifying to hear that you have done somethinking on the subject."
"I am glad you are gratified, Mr. Whitechoker," replied the Idiot, "butI am far from taking undue credit to myself because I reflect upon thefuture and its possibilities. I do not see how any man can fail to beinterested in the subject, particularly when he considers the greatstrides science has made in the last twenty years."
"I fail to see," said the School-Master, "what the strides of sciencehave to do with it."
"You fail to see so often, Mr. Pedagog," returned the Idiot, "that Iwould advise your eyes to make an assignment in favor of your pupils."
"I must confess," put in Mr. Whitechoker, blandly, "that I too amsomewhat--er--somewhat--"
"Somewhat up a tree as to science's connection with the future?" queriedthe Idiot.
"You have my meaning, but hardly the phraseology I should have chosen,"replied the minister.
"My style is rather epigrammatic," said the Idiot, suavely. "I appreciatethe flattery implied by your noticing it. But science has everything todo with it. It is science that is going to make the future great. It isscience that has annihilated distance, and the annihilation has justbegun. Twenty years ago it was hardly possible for a man standing on oneside of the street to make himself heard on the other, the acousticproperties of the atmosphere not being what they should be. To-dayyou can stand in the pulpit of your church, and by means of certainscientific apparatus make yourself heard in Boston, New Orleans, or SanFrancisco. Has this no bearing on the future? The time will come, Mr.Whitechoker, when your missionaries will be able to sit in theircomfortable rectories, and ring up the heathen in foreign climes, andconvert them over the telephone, without running the slightest danger offalling into the soup, which expression I use in its literal rather thanin its metaphorical sense."
"YOU CAN MAKE YOURSELF HEARD IN SAN FRANCISCO"]
"But--" interrupted Mr. Whitechoker.
"Now wait, please," said the Idiot. "If science can annihilate degrees ofdistance, who shall say that before many days science may not annihilatedegrees of time? If San Francisco, thousands of miles distant, can bebrought within range of the ear, why cannot 1990 be brought before themind's eye? And if 1990 can be brought before the mind's eye, what is toprevent the invention of a prophetograph which shall enable us to cast ahoroscope which shall reach all around eternity and half-way back, if notfurther?"
THE PROPHETOGRAPH]
"You do not understand me," said Mr. Whitechoker. "When I speak of thefuture, I do not mean the temporal future."
"I know exactly what you mean," said the Idiot. "I've dealt in futures,and I am familiar with all kinds. It is you, sir, that do not understandme. My claim is perfectly plausible, and in its results is bound to makethe world better. Do you suppose that any man who, by the aid of myprophetograph, sees that on a certain date in the future he will behanged for murder is going to fail to provide himself with an alibi inregard to that particular murder, and must we not admit that havingprovided himself with that alibi he will of necessity avoid bloodshed,and so avoid the gallows? That's reasonable. So in regard to all thethousand and one other peccadilloes that go to make this life a sinfulone. Science, by a purely logical advance along the lines already mappedout for itself, and in part already traversed, will enable men to avoidthe pitfalls and reap only the windfalls of life; we shall all see whatterrible consequences await on a single misstep, and we shall not makethe misstep. Can you still claim that science and the future have nothingto do with each other?"
"You are talking of matters purely temporal," said Mr. Whitechoker. "Ihave reference to our spiritual future."
"And the two," observed the Idiot, "are so closely allied that we cannotseparate them. The proverb about looking after the pennies and lettingthe pounds take care of themselves applies here. I believe that if I takecare of my temporal future--which, by-the-way, does not exist--myspiritual future will take care of itself; and if science places thehereafter before us--and you admit that even now it is before us--all wehave to do is to take advantage of our opportunities, and mend our livesaccordingly."
"But if science shows you what is to come," said the School-Master, "itmust show your fate with perfect accuracy, or it ceases to be science, inwhich event your entertaining notions as to reform and so on are entirelyfallacious."
"Not at all," said the Idiot. "We are approaching the time when science,which is much more liberal than any other branch of knowledge, willsacrifice even truth itself for the good of mankind."
"You ought to start a paradox company," suggested the Doctor.
"Either that or make himself the nucleus of an insane asylum," observedthe School-Master, viciously. "I never knew a man with such maniacalviews as those we have heard this morning."
"There is a great deal, Mr. Pedagog, that you have never known," returnedthe Idiot. "Stick by me, and you'll die with a mind richly stored."
Whereat the School-Master left the table with such manifest impatiencethat Mr. Whitechoker was sorry he had started the conversation.
The genial gentleman who occasionally imbibed and the Idiot withdrew tothe latter's room, where the former observed:
"What are you driving at, anyhow? Where did you get those crazy ideas?"
"I ate a Welsh-rarebit last night, and dreamed 'em," returned the Idiot.
"I thought as much," said his companion. "What deuced fine things dreamsare, anyhow!"