Yes, I see you are. Go ahead! Or will you smoke
first?"

Macheson produced his pipe, and his host a great tin of honeydew.
Macheson helped himself slowly. He seemed to be trying to gain time.

"Blessed compact, ours," the giant remarked, leaning back in his chair.
"No probing for confidences, no silly questions. Out with it!"

"I've started wrong," Macheson said. "I'll have to go back on my tracks
a bit anyway."

Holderness grunted affably.

"Nothing like mistakes," he remarked. "Best discipline in the world."

"I started on a theory," Macheson continued thoughtfully. "It didn't pan
out. The people I have been trying to get at are better left alone."

"Exactly why?" Holderness asked.

"I'll tell you," Macheson answered. "You know I've seen a bit of what we
call village life. Their standard isn't high enough, of course. Things
come too easily, their noses are too close to the ground. They are
moderately sober, moderately industrious, but the sameness of life is at
work all the time. It makes machines of the factory hands, animals of
the country folk. I knew that before I started. I thought I could lift
their heads a little. It's too big a task for me, Dick."

"Of course," Holderness assented. "You can't graft on to dead wood."

"They live decent lives--most of them," Macheson continued thoughtfully.
"They can't understand that any change is needed, no more can their
landlords, or their clergy. A mechanical performance of the Christian
code seems all that any one expects from them. Dick, it's all they're
capable of. You can't alter laws. You can't create intelligence. You
can't teach these people spirituality."

"As well try to teach 'em to fly," Holderness answered. "I could have
told you so before, if it had been of any use. What about these
Welshmen, though?"

"It's hysteria," Macheson declared. "If you can get through the hide,
you can make the emotions run riot, stir them into a frenzy. It's a
debauch. I've been there to see. The true spiritual life is partly
intellectual."

"What are you going to do now?" Holderness asked.

"I don't know," Macheson answered. "I haven't finished yet. Dick, curse
all women!"

The giant looked thoughtful.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

Macheson swung himself from the table. He walked up and down the room.

"It isn't serious," he declared. "It isn't even definite. But it's like
a perfume, or a wonderful chord of music, or the call of the sea to an
inland-bred viki