- end_line
- 2331
- extracted_at
- 2026-01-30T20:47:57.722Z
- extracted_by
- structure-extraction-lambda
- start_line
- 2250
- text
- "Pardon me, but I am naturally inquisitive. Have you a copy with you?"
"I tell you again, I do not think that it would be suitable to convert
this boat into the Company's office.--That unfortunate man, did you
relieve him at all?"
"Let the unfortunate man relieve himself.--Hand me the statement."
"Well, you are such a business-man, I can hardly deny you. Here,"
handing a small, printed pamphlet.
The youth turned it over sagely.
"I hate a suspicious man," said the other, observing him; "but I must
say I like to see a cautious one."
"I can gratify you there," languidly returning the pamphlet; "for, as I
said before, I am naturally inquisitive; I am also circumspect. No
appearances can deceive me. Your statement," he added "tells a very fine
story; but pray, was not your stock a little heavy awhile ago? downward
tendency? Sort of low spirits among holders on the subject of that
stock?"
"Yes, there was a depression. But how came it? who devised it? The
'bears,' sir. The depression of our stock was solely owing to the
growling, the hypocritical growling, of the bears."
"How, hypocritical?"
"Why, the most monstrous of all hypocrites are these bears: hypocrites
by inversion; hypocrites in the simulation of things dark instead of
bright; souls that thrive, less upon depression, than the fiction of
depression; professors of the wicked art of manufacturing depressions;
spurious Jeremiahs; sham Heraclituses, who, the lugubrious day done,
return, like sham Lazaruses among the beggars, to make merry over the
gains got by their pretended sore heads--scoundrelly bears!"
"You are warm against these bears?"
"If I am, it is less from the remembrance of their stratagems as to our
stock, than from the persuasion that these same destroyers of
confidence, and gloomy philosophers of the stock-market, though false in
themselves, are yet true types of most destroyers of confidence and
gloomy philosophers, the world over. Fellows who, whether in stocks,
politics, bread-stuffs, morals, metaphysics, religion--be it what it
may--trump up their black panics in the naturally-quiet brightness,
solely with a view to some sort of covert advantage. That corpse of
calamity which the gloomy philosopher parades, is but his
Good-Enough-Morgan."
"I rather like that," knowingly drawled the youth. "I fancy these gloomy
souls as little as the next one. Sitting on my sofa after a champagne
dinner, smoking my plantation cigar, if a gloomy fellow come to me--what
a bore!"
"You tell him it's all stuff, don't you?"
"I tell him it ain't natural. I say to him, you are happy enough, and
you know it; and everybody else is as happy as you, and you know that,
too; and we shall all be happy after we are no more, and you know that,
too; but no, still you must have your sulk."
"And do you know whence this sort of fellow gets his sulk? not from
life; for he's often too much of a recluse, or else too young to have
seen anything of it. No, he gets it from some of those old plays he sees
on the stage, or some of those old books he finds up in garrets. Ten to
one, he has lugged home from auction a musty old Seneca, and sets about
stuffing himself with that stale old hay; and, thereupon, thinks it
looks wise and antique to be a croaker, thinks it's taking a stand-way
above his kind."
"Just so," assented the youth. "I've lived some, and seen a good many
such ravens at second hand. By the way, strange how that man with the
weed, you were inquiring for, seemed to take me for some soft
sentimentalist, only because I kept quiet, and thought, because I had a
copy of Tacitus with me, that I was reading him for his gloom, instead
of his gossip. But I let him talk. And, indeed, by my manner humored
him."
"You shouldn't have done that, now. Unfortunate man, you must have made
quite a fool of him."
- title
- Chunk 2