"Superstition--superstition, Stonehouse--the most crushing, damnable
chain of all, the symbol of cowardice, of greed and vanity, the enemy
of truth and knowledge, the hot-bed on which we breed the miserable
half-men who cumber this earth, a pitiable myth----"
He had almost shouted. It was as though he had been addressing a vast
audience. His voice dropped now, and he walked on, peering about him
anxiously.
"Well--well, you are too young. There are things you can't understand.
But I shall teach you. No, there is no God, Stonehouse."
Robert was vaguely sorry. It was true that he had no clear idea of
God, and yet in some way He had been mixed up with the bands and music
and marching crowds that were always just round the corner. In his
expansive, genial moments, so rare towards the end. Dr. Stonehouse had
been known to say, "God bless you, Christine," and that had always
meant a few hours' peace. It seemed very sad.
"What are you going to be, Stonehouse?"
"A doctor, sir."
"Why?"
It was impossible to tell the whole truth--namely, that because Francey
had said she was to be a doctor he had said he would be one too, and a
better one at that. He gave half-measure.
"I want to be."
"Well, that's a good reason. It might be a great profession, but it
has its liars and tricksters like the rest. It is eaten up by little
men who wrap themselves in priestly garments and hide their ignorance
behind oracular silences.
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