But before I can explain
to you my views you have already changed your own, and are likening
the philosopher to an old tom-cat that seems to be weak in his head.
Soberly now, what are you?"
"A fool," he answered promptly; "a most unfortunate fool. I have the
mind of a philosopher coupled to an intensely irritable temperament.
My philosophy teaches me to be ashamed of my irritability, and my
irritability makes my philosophy appear to be arrant nonsense to
myself. The philosopher in me tells me it does not matter when the
twins fall down the wishing-well. It is not a deep well. It is not
the first time they have fallen into it: it will not be the last.
Such things pass: the philosopher only smiles. The man in me calls
the philosopher a blithering idiot for saying it does not matter when
it does matter. Men have to be called away from their work to haul
them out. We all of us get wet. I get wet and excited, and that
always starts my liver. The children's clothes are utterly spoilt.
Confound them,"--the blood was mounting to his head--"they never care
to go near the well except they are dressed in their best clothes.
On other days they will stop indoors and read Foxe's 'Book of
Martyrs.' There is something uncanny about twins. What is it? Why
should twins be worse than other children? The ordinary child is not
an angel, Heaven knows. Take these boots of mine. Look at them; I
have had them for over two years.
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