square up" to him. A dry aggressiveness informed him, and his
voice had a rasping timbre as he continued:

"But I decline to take leaps in the dark like--" Here he mentioned a
well-known man of science--"and I decline to reject evidence like--" Here
he named a professor even more famous.

The mention of the last name evidently excited Chichester's curiosity.

"What evidence has he rejected?" he exclaimed.

"Last week he held a sitting to examine the pretensions of Mrs. Groeber,
the German medium. Westcott was also present, a man on whose word the
very devil--if there is such a person, which I don't yet know--would
rely. Some apparently remarkable phenomena occurred.--" Here he mentioned
the professor--"was convinced that they could only have been brought
about by supernormal means. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Westcott had
seen the trickery which produced them. When the seance was over he
explained what it was to ----. What did this _so-called_ man of science
do? Refused to accept Westcott's evidence, clung to his own ridiculous
belief,--savage's fetish belief, nothing more,--and will include the
Groeber manifestations as evidence of supernormal powers in his next
volume. And I say, I say"--he raised his forefinger--"that clergymen are
doing much the same thing pretty nearly every day of their lives. Seek
for truth quietly, inexorably, and you may get it; but don't prod men
into falsehood, or try to, as you've been trying to in this very room."

"I!" cried out Chichester.

"You. I told you I had no reason to give you as to why you attracted my
attention in the street. Were you satisfied with that? Not at all. You
must needs come here,--very glad to see you!--and say, 'I feel sure you
must be able to give me a reason. What is it?' You clamor for a lie.
And that's what men are perpetually doing--clamoring for lies. And they
get 'em, from clergymen, from mediums, from so-called scientific men,
and from the dear delightful politicians. There now!"

And the professor dropped his forefinger and flung himself back in his
chair.

"And"--Chichester in his turn leaned forward, but he spoke with some
hesitation--"and suppose I were to tell you a truth, a strange, an
amazing truth?"

He paused.

"Go on!" said the professor.

"Wouldn't you do just the opposite? You say men accept lies. I say you
would probably reject truth."

"_Cela depend_. What you believed to be truth might not be truth at
all. It might be hyster