sweeten my wisdom."

"There is no doubt as to the rascality, Gid. The only question is with
regard to the wisdom."

"Easy, John. The wisdom is sometimes hidden; modesty covers it up, and
if the rascality is always apparent it is my frankness that holds it up
to view. Yes, sir. But my wisdom lacks something, is in want of
something to direct it. Pure wisdom can't direct itself, John; it is
like gold--it must have an alloy. You've got that alloy, and it makes
you more successful as a man, but sometimes less charming as a
companion. The part of a man that means business is disagreeable to a
gentle, humor-loving nature like mine. I perceive that I've got my
speculative gear on, and I'm bold; yes, for I am soon to discharge a
sacred obligation and then to walk out under the trees a free man. But
I'm naturally bold. Did you ever notice that a sort of self-education
makes a man adventurous in his talk when a more systematic training
might hold him down with the clamps of too much care?"

"Yes, might inflict him with the dullness of precision," the Major
suggested, smiling upon his guest.

"That's it, and for this reason half-educated men are often the
brightest. I read a book--and I reckon I'm as fond of a good book as any
man--without bringing to bear any criticisms that scholars have passed
upon it. But with you it is different."

"Gid, you ascribe scholarship to me when in fact you are far more
bookish than I am. You sit in your den all alone and read while I'm shut
up in my office going over my accounts. From care you have a freedom
that I can never hope to find."

"John, in comparison with me you don't know what care is."

The Major leaned against the mantel-piece and laughed.

"It's a fact, John. Why, I have care enough to kill a statesman or
strain a philosopher. Look at me; I'm old and don't amount to anything,
and that is one of the heaviest cares that can settle down upon man.
Wise? Oh, yes, we'll grant that, but as I before remarked, my wisdom
lacks proper direction. It is like ill-directed energy, and that, you
know, counts for nothing. I once knew a fellow that expended enough
energy in epileptic fits to have made him a fortune. He'd fall down and
kick and paw the air--a regular engine of industry, but it was all
wasted. But he had a brother, a lazy fellow, and he conceived the idea
of a sort of gear for him, so that his jerkings and kicks operated a
patent churn. So, if I only had some ingenious fool t