"What have you been doing up in the country, Doctor?" asked the Judge.

"Fishing, I suppose?"

"You might say," answered Dr. Medjora, "that I have been a fisher of men. I brought one back with me, you see." He indicated Leon by a wave of his hand. The Judge glanced at the youth, and awaited a further explanation.

"Leon and I are old friends," continued the Doctor. "I met him first when he needed my services to help him with a broken leg. But I have accepted his a.s.sistance many times since, when, without him, I might never have found my way back to civilization from the jungles into which I had strayed. For the future I need him so much that I have brought him home with me, to remain permanently."

"Indeed!" said the Judge, much interested, for if Leon were to be always with his friend, it was of more than pa.s.sing moment to himself.

"In what way do you need him?"

"Judge, as you know, my good wife here has not given me the son that I have longed for." Madame scowled, enraged by the speech which however had not been meant to wound her. The Doctor had not thought of her at all, but merely mentioned what was a fact. "Therefore I have no heir.

I do not mean in connection with my worldly goods. I speak of my profession. I wish a student to whom I may impart my methods, so that after my day has pa.s.sed my people may still have some one to depend upon. You see, I look upon my practice, much as a shepherd would consider his sheep. I am responsible for them. They depend upon me to keep them out of danger. I consider it a duty to supply a successor to myself."

"And this young gentleman is to be he?" asked the Judge.

"Leon is my choice before all whom I have known. Above all others I have decided that he is the most worthy of the trust that I shall impose in him." The Doctor spoke feelingly.

"Young man," said the Judge, addressing Leon, "I hope you appreciate the rare opportunity offered to you by my friend. If you are really capable of becoming his successor, then you are destined to be a power in the community, as he is to-day."

"Judge Dudley," said Leon, "I know that I am most fortunate. Dr.

Medjora has taken me from beggary, and placed before me a future which would tempt any young man. But, to me, it means more than a salvation from drudgery; it means more than a high-road to fortune. I feel that I am destined to realize the hopes of my life, the yearnings of all my past days. I shall have a chance to acquire learning, to cultivate my intellect, to gain knowledge, which in my mind is the supremest power."

The Judge was somewhat surprised to hear such words from a country lad, still habited in clothing more suited to a farmer than to one with such aspirations. He said: "Young man, you interest me. Evidently you have learned to think for yourself. Come, tell me! Why do you lay such store by knowledge, when the rest of mankind are crying for money?"

"Money! Money! Money!" repeated Leon with a contemptuous curl of the lip. "Judge Dudley, I am nearing my majority, and I can say, that in all my life I do not think that I have owned more than fifty dollars.

My food, clothing, and a home, have been provided for me, but aside from that I have not spent more than the sum named, and most of that went for books. So, you see, one may live without wealth, if enough to cover actual necessities be his. Without knowledge, a man would be an idiot. I think that is a logical proposition. If you grant that, then the less knowledge one has, the nearer he must be to the imbecile, and the more he acquires, the closer he approaches the highest stage of existence. Money we leave behind us at death. Knowledge, on the contrary, not only goes with us, but is really the only guarantee the individual has of a continuance of existence beyond the grave."

The Judge became more and more interested, and Dr. Medjora, observing the good impression which his _protege_ was making, was content to remain silent and listen.

"Your last statement indicates that you have formulated some mode of reasoning, upon which to base your convictions," said the Judge. "Will you take us a little further into your doctrine?"

"I am afraid that my ideas are rather crude, sir. I have had access to few standard works, and have been compelled to think out things for myself. But if I do not bore you, I shall be only too willing to continue. Indeed, it is a great treat to me, to speak with some one who may contradict me where I fall into error."

"You are a modest young man, Mr. Grath. Please continue. You were saying that one's knowledge might a.s.sure him a life hereafter."

"So I believe. Of course it is almost impossible, if not quite so, to prove anything in connection with the great future. But it is the prerogative of man to reason upon all subjects, and it is eminently fitting that he should study that one which most nearly affects himself. In the absence of absolute proof, I claim that one may adopt any theory that appeals to him as reasonable and probable. Now in relation to knowledge. I say it is more important to ama.s.s knowledge than to h.o.a.rd up wealth. Money belongs to the material plane, and, having no relation to any other, it is as perishable, as far as it affects one individual, as is the human body. Money buys luxuries and comforts for the body only. It can add nothing to intellectual attainment. You may say that with it one may purchase books with which to improve the mind. That is true, but does not invalidate my argument, for it is not the book which is pabulum to our intellect, but only the thoughts which have been recorded upon its pages. Money procures us the possession of the book, whereas if we borrow it, and return it again, in the interval we may receive all the mental benefit which it can bestow upon the owner. Knowledge, on the other hand, is immaterial. It is an attribute of what has been called the soul. It is potent while being invisible, and though invisible it has a market value as well as things material. All the wealth of the world may not suffice to make one man wise, while all the wisdom in the world would surely make its possessor wealthy, but for the fact that he would probably be too wise to wish for riches. If, then, knowledge is such a potent factor in the world's affairs, can it be that it ceases to exist when a man dies? It is reasonable to suppose that it does not: then what becomes of it? The man cannot leave it to his heirs, as he does his chattels. Therefore it must continue where it has always been, and that is within the mind, which must have a continuance of existence to retain its knowledge."

"Ah! Very good! But Dr. Medjora has just announced that he is preparing to bequeath his knowledge to you, who are to be his heir in that respect. How do you make that conform to your curious theory?

"You misapprehend the true condition. Dr. Medjora does not purpose giving me his knowledge, as one gives money, thereby lessening his own store. He merely intends to cultivate my own intellect, training it in grooves parallel with those which he himself has followed. He might live until I know as much as he does now, yet he would be no less wise than he is. Rather, he would have grown wiser himself in having acquired the experience of teaching another."

"You should study law instead of medicine. If you grow tired of the Doctor, you must come to me. Only, let me ask you one more question.

If, according to your tenets, the wisest man is most certain of a future life, what of the most idiotic?"

"He is most apt to meet with annihilation. But he would cease to exist, only as to his individuality. I have not thought very deeply in that direction, but as my mind cannot conceive of the actual annihilation of anything that is existent, I have surmised that perhaps the minds of many idiots may become coalescent, so that a new individual might he created, who would possess sufficient intellectuality at birth in the world, to realize the importance to himself of mental cultivation."

"Ha! Ha! Doctor," said the Judge, laughing. "If two idiots may eventually be rolled into one, there is some hope for you and me. We may be joined together in the next world, and what a fellow we would be on our next trip to this old-fashioned planet! But seriously, Mr.

Grath, your theories interest me. We will talk together again. You must come to our house some day. But I have not time for theology now.

My daughter has a little bet on the first race, and if I delay longer she will miss seeing it. She has been making impatient signs to me for some time."

"Father!" exclaimed Agnes, deprecatingly; then turning to Leon, she continued: "Mr. Grath, you must not lay too much stress upon what my father says, when he is not upon the bench. When acting in his official capacity, his word is law, but at other times----"

"My daughter's is," interrupted the Judge, with a good-humored laugh.

"At other times," Agnes resumed, "he often prevaricates. He is constantly endeavoring to impress people with the idea that I am only a child, and not capable of comprehending serious conversation. Let me a.s.sure you that I have been highly entertained and edified by what you have been saying."

Leon bowed gravely without a suspicion of a blush, or embarra.s.sment of manner, at thus receiving a compliment for the first time in his life from the lips of beauty. He was very self-reliant, though never obtrusively so. What he said was very simple.

"That you have been pleased to listen to me with attention, was sufficient proof to me, Miss Dudley, that at least I was not trying your patience too far by my speech."

"Come, Agnes, or we will miss that race, and whether you care or not, I confess that I do."

Then adieux were made and Dr. Medjora accompanied his guests to the door, where he paused a moment to say a word to the Judge, Leon having remained behind.

"What do you think of the lad?" he asked.

"A promising pupil, Medjora," replied the Judge. "He has brains, an uncommon endowment in these days. He is worth training. Do your best with him."

"I will!" answered the Doctor.

As the carriage bore the Judge and Agnes towards the race-track, the former asked his daughter this question.

"Agnes, what do you think of Mr. Grath?"

"He is bright," she replied, "but what he was saying impressed me from the fact that he seems to have convinced himself of the correctness of his theories, rather than from any argument which he offered, which would satisfy another's mind. Nearly all of it I have read."

When the Doctor returned to the room, he found Leon looking at a book on the table, whereas he had expected to see him at the window watching the departing girl. Therefore he asked:

"What do you think of Miss Dudley?"

"Miss Dudley?" repeated Leon. "Oh! She has a face which one would not easily forget. I met her once, some years ago, but only for a few minutes. Long enough only to answer some question which she asked, yet also long enough to impress her face upon my recollection indelibly.

But I suppose you mean the girl herself, and all I can say is, that I should never form an opinion after an interview so brief. I would add, however, that she seems to be intellectually superior to her s.e.x."

He spoke entirely dispa.s.sionately, and Dr. Medjora said no more.

Madame Medjora had quietly left the room while Leon was expounding his views to the Judge.

During the afternoon, the Doctor took Leon down into the city, to show him about, and more especially to have proper clothing prepared for him. They returned to the Villa Medjora, as Madame called their home, just in time to hear the voice of the Doctor's wife raised in anger.

She was enraged because the butler had opened a box and released Lossy.

"It is bad enough to have the beggar boy thrust upon me," she had exclaimed. "I will not tolerate the nuisance of having a pest like this about the premises. Put him back in his box, and take him away from here instantly. Do you hear?"

The butler heard, but did not heed. He had learned that the Doctor was the master, and having received explicit orders in relation to the dog, he proceeded to put them into effect, despite the protests of Madame. Thus Lossy was bathed, combed, dried, and fed, Madame watching the performance from a window, and continuing her violent tirade, becoming more and more angered as she realized the impotency of her wrath.

As the Doctor and his _protege_ entered the grounds, Lossy bounded along the walk, barking delightedly at the sight of his master. For one moment the lad's cup of happiness was full, but in the next a dread entered his heart. He distinctly heard Madame say:

"I'll poison that beast!" With which she closed the window and disappeared. Leon looked appealingly at the Doctor, whose brows were knit together in an ominous frown.

"Do not be alarmed, Leon," said he, "I will guarantee that Madame will not carry her threat into execution. She is a woman of hasty temper, and often speaks without reflection. She is annoyed because the dog has come, but when she learns that he will not disturb her in any way, her resentment will pa.s.s. Lossy is safe. Let your mind rest easy on that point." He placed his hand upon Leon's shoulder and looked at him with rea.s.suring kindliness. Leon felt slightly relieved, but when he retired to rest that night, in the room allotted to him, he secretly carried Lossy with him, and the dog slept at the foot of his master's bed.