," the Inspector put in, with a smile.

"Where you behold a vision, then, of little English citizens growing up to
serve the State, he saw a horde of little struggle-for-lifers climbing on
each other's backs; and these fellows--that son of his, and the parson--
will follow his line by instinct. They don't reason; but Darwin and the
rest have flung them on the scent of selfishness, and they have a rare
nose for self. Struggle-for-life or struggle-for-creed, the scent is the
same, and they're hot upon it."

"Think of these last fifty years of noble reform. Is England going back
upon herself--upon the spirit, for instance, that raised Italy, freed the
slave, and cared for the factory child?"

"To be sure she will. She has found a creed to vindicate the human brute,
and the next generation--mark my words--will be predatory. Within twenty
years we shall be told that it is inevitable the weak should suffer to
enrich the strong; we shall accept the assurance, and our poets will hymn
it passionately."

"If that day should ever come, we can still die fighting it. But I trust
to Knowledge to do her own work. You remember that sentence in the
_Laws_, 'Many a victory has been and will be suicidal to the victors, but
education is never suicidal'? Nor will you persuade me easily that the
new mistress up yonder,"--the Inspector nodded back at the school
building--"is going to train her children to be little beasts of prey."

"The girl with the Madonna face? No; you're right there. But the
Managers will find a short way with her; she'll go."

"She turns out to be the daughter of an old friend of mine, Marvin of
Warwick, the second-hand bookseller."

"Marvin? Jeremiah Marvin? Why, I must have received his catalogues by
the score."

"Jeremy," his friend corrected him. "He was christened Jeremiah, to be
sure, and told me once it was the handiest name on earth, and could be
made to express anything, 'from the lugubrious, sir, to the rollicking.
In my young days, sir,'--for he had been a soldier in his time--'I was
Corporal Jerry. Corporal Jerry Marvin! How's that for a name? Jeremiah
I hold in reserve against the blows of destiny or promotion to a better
world. But Jeremy, sir, as I think you'll allow, is the only wear for a
second-hand bookseller.' A whimsical fellow!"

"He is dead, then?"

"Yes, he died a few weeks since; and poorly-off, I'm afraid. He had a
habit of reading the books he vended. Look here,