“Upon what, then?” said David.

“Upon the follies, the weaknesses and the p-p-passions of mankind!  Since time began, a universal panacea’ has been a sure source of wealth.  It makes no difference what the panacea is, if you only have the b-b-brains to fool the people.  There are only two kinds of people in the world, my son—­the fools and f-f-foolers!”

Even whisky could not make David listen to this cold-blooded avowal without a shudder.

The keen eye of the quack detected it; but instead of adulterating his philosophy, he doubled his dose.

“Shocks you, does it?  You will g-g-get over that.  We are not angels! we are only men.  Remember what old Jack Falstaff said?  ’If Adam fell in a state, of innocency, what shall I d-d-do in a state of villainy?’”

The boldness of the man and the radicalness of his philosophy dazzled and fascinated the inexperienced youth.

This was what the astute and unscrupulous instructor expected, and he determined to pursue his advantage and effect, if possible, the complete corruption of his pupil in a single lesson; and so he continued: 

“Got to live, my son!  Self-p-p-preservation is the first law, and so we must imitate the rest of the b-b-brute creation, and live off of each other!  The big ones must feed upon the little and the strong upon the weak.  ‘Every man for himself and the d-d-devil take the hindmost!’ That’s my religion.”

“You may be right,” said David, “but I cannot say that I take to it kindly.  I do not see how a man can practice this cruelty and injustice without suffering.”

“Suffering!  Idea of suffering is greatly exaggerated.  Ever watch a t-t-toad that was being swallowed by a snake?  Looks as if he positively enjoyed it.  It’s his mission.  Born to be eaten!  If there was as much pain in the world as p-p-people say, do you think anybody could endure it!  Isn’t the d-d-door always open?  Can’t a man quit when he wants to?  Suffering!  Pshaw!  Do I look as if I suffered?  Does Pepeeta look as if she suffered?  And yet she b-b-bamboozles them worse than I do.”

The head of the gypsy bent lower and lower over her crocheting.

“She plays upon them like a fife!  They d-d-dance when she whistles!  Next to wanting a universal panacea for pain, the idiots want a knowledge of the future!  Everybody but me wants to know what kind of a to-morrow God Almighty has made for him.  I make my own to-morrows!  I don’t ask to have my destiny made up for me like a t-t-tailor coat.  I make my own destiny.  If things d-d-don’t come my way, I just pull them!  People talk about ‘following Providence!’ I follow Providence as an Irishman follows his wheel-barrow.  I shove it!  See?  But that is not the way of the rest of them, thank Fortune!  And so Pepeeta gathers them in!  Strange fish g-g-get into her net, Davy.  Back there in your own little t-t-town she caught some of your long-faced old Quakers, b-b-big fellows with broad-brimmed hats, drab coats and ox eyes, regular meetin’-goers!  And there was that little d-d-dove-eyed girl.  What was it she wanted to know, P-P-Pepeeta?  Tell him.  Ha! ha!  Tell him and we will see him b-b-blush.”