He seemed about to reply, even made a quick half-turn
towards Mahony; then thought better of it, and went on rubbing. A smile
played round his lips.
"And in conclusion let me say this," went on Mahony, not unnettled by
his companion's expression. "It's sheer folly to talk about what life
makes of us. Life is not an active force. It's we who make what we will,
of life. And in order to shape it to the best of our powers, Mr. Tangye,
to put our brief span to the best possible use, we must never lose faith
in God or our fellow-men; never forget that, whatever happens, there is
a sky, with stars in it, above us."
"Ah, there's a lot of bunkum talked about life," returned Tangye dryly,
and settled his glasses on his nose. "And as man gets near the end of
it, he sees just WHAT bunkum it is. Life's only got one meanin', doctor;
seen plain, there's only one object in everything we do; and that's to
keep a sound roof over our heads and a bite in our mouths--and in those
of the helpless creatures who depend on us. The rest has no more sense
or significance than a nigger's hammerin' on the tam-tam. The lucky one
o' this world don't grasp it; but we others do; and after all p'raps,
it's worth while havin' gone through it to have got at ONE bit of the
truth, however, small. Good night."
He turned on his heel, and before his words were cold on the air had
vanished, leaving Mahony blankly staring.
The moonshine still bathed the earth, gloriously untroubled by the
bitterness of human words and thoughts.
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