He cut the cigar with care, he lit it with ceremony, waiting until nothing but honest wood was burning on the match, and for fully a minute he was silent, evolving huge puffs of smoke.  And then he spoke again, punctuating his words by varied and beautiful spirals.  “So far,” he said, “I have only trifled with knavery.”

As Lewisham said nothing he resumed after a pause.

“There are three sorts of men in the world, my boy, three and no more—­and of women only one.  There are happy men and there are knaves and fools.  Hybrids I don’t count.  And to my mind knaves and fools are very much alike.”

He paused again.

“I suppose they are,” said Lewisham flatly, and frowned at the fireplace.

Chaffery eyed him.  “I am talking wisdom.  To-night I am talking a particular brand of wisdom.  I am broaching some of my oldest and finest, because—­as you will find one day—­this is a special occasion.  And you are distrait!”

Lewisham looked up.  “Birthday?” he said.

“You will see.  But I was making golden observations about knaves and fools.  I was early convinced of the absolute necessity of righteousness if a man is to be happy.  I know it as surely as there is a sun in the heavens.  Does that surprise you?”

“Well, it hardly squares—­”

“No.  I know.  I will explain all that.  But let me tell you the happy life.  Let me give you that, as if I lay on my deathbed and this was a parting gift.  In the first place, mental integrity.  Prove all things, hold fast to that which is right.  Let the world have no illusions for you, no surprises.  Nature is full of cruel catastrophes, man is a physically degenerate ape, every appetite, every instinct, needs the curb; salvation is not in the nature of things, but whatever salvation there may be is in the nature of man; face all these painful things.  I hope you follow that?”

“Go on,” said Lewisham, with the debating-society taste for a thesis prevailing for a minute over that matter of the roses.

“In youth, exercise and learning; in adolescence, ambition; and in early manhood, love—­no footlight passion.”  Chaffery was very solemn and insistent, with a lean extended finger, upon this point.

“Then marriage, young and decent, and then children and stout honest work for them, work too for the State in which they live; a life of self-devotion, indeed, and for sunset a decent pride—­that is the happy life.  Rest assured that is the happy life; the life Natural Selection has been shaping for man since life began.  So a man may go happy from the cradle to the grave—­at least—­passably happy.  And to do this needs just three things—­a sound body, a sound intelligence, and a sound will ...  A sound will.”

Chaffery paused on the repetition.

“No other happiness endures.  And when all men are wise, all men will seek that life.  Fame!  Wealth!  Art!—­the Red Indians worship lunatics, and we are still by way of respecting the milder sorts.  But I say that all men who do not lead that happy life are knaves and fools.  The physical cripple, you know, poor devil, I count a sort of bodily fool.”