"Ah," said Ernie. "But I been talking to myself, too. No one else can't teach you, only yourself." He began to expound his philosophy with tapping finger in the half-hushed voice of the priest revealing the mysteries of life and death to the neophyte. "See there's two minds in Man," he began. "There's the Big Mind and the Little One. The Big Mind's like a Great Dream--it's beautiful, like clouds, but it can't do much by itself: the Little Mind's like a tintack, sharp and to the point. Now Alf's got the one kind of Mind, and me and Dad the other. This here Little Mind helps you to get on: it thinks it's on its own, being conceited. But the Big Mind behind does the real work." His eyes burned. He spoke with a solemnity, a conviction that was overwhelming. Mr. Pigott was awed in spite of himself. "The Little Mind's clever like Alf. And the Big Mind's wise like your father. That's it, is it?" he said lamely. Ernie nodded. "And what about Mr. Trupp?" the other inquired. "Ah," said Ernie, with enthusiasm, "he's a great man, Mr. Trupp is. He lives by both Minds--as a full man should. He don't neglect neether. They're meant to work together. Ye see the Little Mind should be like a lantern for the Big Mind to work with--like a miner's lamp in the pit like. It's got no real life of its own--only what the miner chooses to give it. Most folks neglect one or the other. Dad and me neglect the Little Mind--so we don't do much; but we aren't afraid of nothin. Alf, now, he neglects the Big; so he's in fear of his life always, and good cause why, too. For he lives by the Little Mind. And sooner or later the Little Mind'll go out snuff. And then where'll Alf be?" Elsie Pigott, in an apron, stood in the door. "We're discussing prayer," her husband informed her. "Indeed," said the lady. "And now you'll discuss a plate of beef. At least Ernie will." The starveling rose. "No, thank you, 'm," he said. "Aren't you hungry then?" asked the young woman. "Not as I'm aware of," laughed Ernie. "Nonsense," the other answered, "you can live by the Spirit, but not on it." And she took him firmly by the arm and led him into the kitchen. Her guest established, she returned to her husband. "Have you found him a job, Samuel Pigott?" she asked. "I have not, Elsie Pigott. Nor has he asked me for one." "Mr. Pigott," his wife retorted, "if you were not twenty years my senior I should call you the beast you undoubtedly are." All the same, when his wife had gone to bed that night, Mr. Pigott rang up the Hohenzollern Hotel and asked the Manager why Ernie had been dismissed. "Got fighting drunk," replied the Manager. "He'd been warned before." After that Mr. Pigott set his face like a flint. "It's now or never," he admitted to Mr. Trupp, and added reluctantly, "There may be something in your Big Stick sometimes, after all." CHAPTER XLVII ALF TRIES TO HELP Ernie was now in a bad way materially.