his poker sermons with the eloquent mannerisms of the pulpit, save, as
Payson held, they were infinitely more logical and eloquent, but
to-night, husking his logic of these externals, he fell flatly to
preaching an unadorned philosophy of continence acutely at variance
with his own habits.

Wherry stared wonderingly at the tall, lithe figure by the fire.

"Carl," he said at last, "tell me, are you honestly in earnest when you
rag the fellows so about work and decency and all that sort of thing?"

Carl yawned and lighted a cigar.

"I believe," said he, "in the eternal efficacy of good. I believe in
the telepathic potency of moral force. I believe in physical
conservation for the eugenic good of the race and mental dominance over
matter. But I'm infernally lazy myself, and it's easy to preach. It's
even easier to create a counter-philosophy of condonance and
individualism, and I'm alternately an ethical egoist, a Fabian
socialist and a cynic. Moreover, I'm a creature of whims and
inconsistencies and there are black nights in my temperament when John
Barleycorn lightens the gloom; and there are other nights when he
treacherously deepens it--but I'm peculiarly balanced and subject to
irresistible fits of moral atrophy. All of which has nothing at all to
do with the soundness of my impersonal philosophy. Wherefore," with a
flash of his easy impudence, "when I preach, I mean it--for the other
fellow."

Wherry glanced at the handsome face of his erratic friend with frank
allegiance in his eyes.