CORIN DISCOURSES ON KARMA
“I LIKE that man,” announced Corin succinctly.
John grunted.
“I like him,” announced Corin again, stirring his coffee.
“I’ve heard you make that remark at least ten times since his
departure,” quoth John, and somewhat sarcastically, be it stated.
“It is possible,” returned Corin coolly, “that you will hear me make
it at least ten times more. Of course I’ll allow that he isn’t in
the picture. In fact he’s entirely out of the picture; he strikes an
incongruous note. It requires a readjustment of all one’s preconceived
notions to see him in that old-world setting up yonder.”
John groaned inwardly.
“Yet you cannot deny,” pursued Corin, “that there is a pleasing
strength and virility about him. I had allowed myself to imagine him as
a small hustling man, a cross between the brisk commercial traveller
and the hard-headed mechanic, with perhaps a touch of the oily waiter
thrown in. And now,” went on Corin musingly, “I perceive that he is a
big man----”
“Your eyesight would be strangely deficient if you didn’t perceive it,”
broke in John.
“A silent man----”
“He hadn’t a chance of getting a word in edgeways when you appeared
upon the scene,” interpolated John.
“A thoughtful man----”
“It is to be hoped he was able to assimilate a few of the thoughts you
thrust down his throat,” quoth John grimly.
“Hang the stupid little complications of life,” he was thinking. There
was a tiny note of trouble in his eyes.
“If you mean that I thrust my ideas upon him unwanted,” said Corin
with dignity, “allow me to remark that you are mistaken. I observed
interest, intelligent interest, in his face.”
“And you pretend to being short-sighted,” interposed John.
“The idea,” continued Corin, “of his having worked out his debt of
karma for sins committed in former lives, and being, therefore, now
able to enter upon his birthright, appealed to him. It distinctly
appealed to him. He said, ‘I guess that’s a new handle to take hold
of,’ more than once.”
“That doesn’t say it was an inviting one,” retorted John.
“I’m a fool to be worried about such a trifling absurdity,” he thought.
“There is much,” said Corin didactically, “that is uninviting at the
outset, but which, on further acquaintance, proves of extraordinary
interest. Also, for my part, rather let me grasp Truth however
uninviting she may appear, than dally with the most pleasing of lies.”
John laughed.
“I wonder,” went on Corin, “what precise debt of karma the family at
the Castle owes this man, that he is to be the instrument for their
unseating.”
“According to you,” returned John, “since he has paid off his own debt,
and gained reward, he is obliged to unseat someone.”
Corin sighed.
“I fear,” he said, “that I shall never be able to make you perceive
the law and order, the strict justice in the universe. If reward is
gained at the expense of another, it is merely because that other
deserves that the reward should be so gained.”
John laughed a second time. Argument in this quarter was futile, and
he knew it. His friendship with Corin was always a matter of some
slight amusement and puzzlement to him, when he chanced to consider
the subject. It is certainly somewhat difficult to conceive wherein
precisely the attraction between them existed, having in view their
diametrically opposite opinions.
“Confound the man,” thought John, and it was not on Corin those
thoughts were centred, “why couldn’t he have been all that I had
pictured him?”
“You can laugh,” said Corin severely, “but it is very certain that you
can bring no arguments to refute mine.”
“My dear man,” responded John, “I could bring twenty million, but it’s
like pouring water into a sieve to propound them to you. I believe I
have heard a tale of a monk being once sent by a saint to fetch water
in a sieve; and when, at the end of several journeys, he ventured to
remonstrate at the futility of the journey, it was pointed out to him
that at all events the sieve had been cleansed by the process. I don’t
know whether my arguments would have a like effect on your mind, but I
confess I am too lazy to try.”
“Your simile savours of an insult,” retorted Corin. “But I’ll leave you
to your own mode of thought. I know it to be hide-bound, iron-cast.
Now, in this man I see plastic material; he needs but careful moulding.
I shall pursue my acquaintance with him with interest.”
John laughed a third time. But behind the laughter in his eyes was
still that little indefinable note of trouble.