ays ago you
and I were the maddest people in England. Now, by God! I believe we are
the sanest. That is the only real question--whether the Church is really
madder than the world. Let the rationalists run their own race, and let
us see where _they_ end. If the world has some healthy balance other
than God, let the world find it. Does the world find it? Cut the world
loose," he cried with a savage gesture. "Does the world stand on its own
end? Does it stand, or does it stagger?"

Turnbull remained silent, and MacIan said to him, looking once more at
the earth: "It staggers, Turnbull. It cannot stand by itself; you know
it cannot. It has been the sorrow of your life. Turnbull, this garden
is not a dream, but an apocalyptic fulfilment. This garden is the world
gone mad."

Turnbull did not move his head, and he had been listening all the time;
yet, somehow, the other knew that for the first time he was listening
seriously.

"The world has gone mad," said MacIan, "and it has gone mad about Us.
The world takes the trouble to make a big mistake about every little
mistake made by the Church. That is why they have turned ten counties
to a madhouse; that is why crowds of kindly people are poured into this
filthy melting-pot. Now is the judgement of this world. The Prince of
this World is judged, and he is judged exactly because he is judging.
There is at last one simple solution to the quarrel between the ball and
the cross----"

Turnbull for the first time started.

"The ball and----" he repeated.

"What is the matter with you?" asked MacIan.

"I had a dream," said Turnbull, thickly and obscurely, "in which I saw
the cross struck crooked and the ball secure----"

"I had a dream," said MacIan, "in which I saw the cross erect and the
ball invisible. They were both dreams from hell. There must be
some round earth to plant the cross upon. But here is the awful
difference--that the round world will not consent even to continue
round. The astronomers are always telling us that it is shaped like
an orange, or like an egg, or like a German sausage. They beat the
old world about like a bladder and thump it into a thousand shapeless
shapes. Turnbull, we cannot trust the ball to be always a ball; we
cannot trust reason to be reasonable. In the end the great terrestrial
globe will go quite lop-sided, and only the cross will stand upright."

There was a long silence, and then Turnbull said, hesitatingly: "Has
it occurred to you t