Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Prosperity; or, Toil Has Its Reward онлайн

9 страница из 61

“And it’s an argument that cannot be refuted!” shouted Bart, fiercely. “I suppose that you claim God is all-wise—that He knows everything?”

“Of course.”

“Then, if He knows everything, He must know before a man is born just what that man will become, what he will do, every act he will commit. You can’t deny that. If He knows just what a man will do, then it must be that the man’s actions are foreordained. You can’t deny that. Every act that man does he was compelled to do because God knew what he would do, and he could not do differently.”

“And you would argue that a man should not attempt to make himself better and nobler because he cannot be any better if he tries? As I said before, that is the argument of bad men and criminals for centuries.”

“That’s enough!” Bart hissed. “I understand you, Frank Merriwell. You—you, who have pretended to be my friend—you have called me a criminal to my face. Ha, ha, ha! I didn’t think it would come to that. Never mind. I understand it all now. For all of our apparent friendship, I know now that you have doubted me deep down in your heart. You have not wanted to doubt me, but you could not help it, and so——”