arelessly and from a
distance, it looked like a man-of-war on a rough sea, for which it was
frequently taken, much to Ferrol's annoyance.

One day an artist friend of his presented him with a small Chinese god
made of crystal; he put this on his chimney-piece. It was on the evening
of the day on which he received this gift that he dined, together with a
friend named Sledge who had travelled much in Eastern countries, at his
club. After dinner they went to Ferrol's rooms to smoke and to talk. He
wanted to show Sledge his antiquities, which consisted of three large
Egyptian statuettes, a small green Egyptian god, and the Chinese idol
which he had lately been given. Sledge, who was a middle-aged, bearded
man, frank and unconventional, examined the antiquities with care,
pronounced them to be genuine, and singled out for special praise the
crystal god.

"Your things are very good," he said, "very good. But don't you really
mind having all these things about you?"

"Why should I mind?" asked Ferrol.

"Well, you have travelled a good deal, haven't you?"

"Yes," said Ferrol, "I have travelled; I have been as far east as
Nijni-Novgorod to see the Fair, and as far west as Lisbon."

"I suppose," said Sledge, "you were a long time in Greece and Italy?"

"No," said Ferrol, "I have never been to Greece. Greek art distresses
me. All classical art is a mistake and a superstition."

"Talking of superstition," said Sledge, "you have never been to the Far
East, have you?"

"No," Ferrol answered, "Egypt is Eastern enough for me, and cannot be
bettered."

"Well," said Sledge, "I have been in the Far East. I have lived there
many years. I am not a superstitious man; but there is one thing I
would not do in any circumstances whatsoever, and that is to keep in my
sitting-room the things you have got there."

"But why?" asked Ferrol.

"Well," said Sledge, "nearly all of them have come from the tombs of the
dead, and some of them are gods. Such things may have attached to them
heaven knows what spooks and spirits."

Ferrol shut his eyes and smiled, a faint, seraphic smile. "My dear boy,"
he said, "you forget. This is the Twentieth Century."

"And you," answered Sledge, "forget that the things you have here were
made before the Twentieth Century. B.C."

"You don't seriously mean," said Ferrol, "that you attach any importance
to these--" he hesitated.

"Children's stories?" suggested Sledge.

Ferrol nodded.

"I have lived