ning, however, about his speculating, and made him promise
not to do so much of it. I hate speculation. It seems to absorb some
men so; and I don't believe it's right for a man to allow himself to
become absorbed altogether in business."

"Oh, why limit one's absorption to business?" replied Corthell, sipping
his wine. "Is it right for one to be absorbed 'altogether' in
anything--even in art, even in religion?"

"Oh, religion, I don't know," she protested.

"Isn't that certain contribution," he hazarded, "which we make to the
general welfare, over and above our own individual work, isn't that the
essential? I suppose, of course, that we must hoe, each of us, his own
little row, but it's the stroke or two we give to our neighbour's
row--don't you think?--that helps most to cultivate the field."

"But doesn't religion mean more than a stroke or two?" she ventured to
reply.

"I'm not so sure," he answered, thoughtfully. "If the stroke or two is
taken from one's own work instead of being given in excess of it. One
must do one's own hoeing first. That's the foundation of things. A
religion that would mean to be 'altogether absorbed' in my neighbour's
hoeing would be genuinely pernicious, surely. My row, meanwhile, would
lie open to weeds."

"But if your neighbour's row grew flowers?"

"Unfortunately weeds grow faster than the flowers, and the weeds of my
row would spread until they choked and killed my neighbour's flowers, I
am sure."

"That seems selfish though," she persisted. "Suppose my neighbour were
maimed or halt or blind? His poor little row would never be finished.
My stroke or two would not help very much."

"Yes, but every row lies between two others, you know. The hoer on the
far side of the cripple's row would contribute a stroke or two as well
as you. No," he went on, "I am sure one's first duty is to do one's own
work. It seems to me that a work accomplished benefits the whole
world--the people--pro rata. If we help another at the expense of our
work instead of in excess of it, we benefit only the individual, and,
pro rata again, rob the people. A little good contributed by everybody
to the race is of more, infinitely more, importance than a great deal
of good contributed by one individual to another."

"Yes," she admitted, beginning at last to be convinced, "I see what you
mean. But one must think very large to see that. It never occurred to
me before. The individual--I, Laura Jadwin--counts for n