wild--or crazy?"

"I dare say."

"So what then?"

"Then you do them."

"Oh, but--"

"If there's an 'Oh, but', you don't. That's all. You belong to the many
called, but not to the few chosen."

"But if things _are_ wild--I'm thinking of something in particular--"

"Then you'd better leave it alone, unless you're prepared to be
considered a wild man. What Paul did was wild--and Peter--and Joan of
Arc--and Columbus--and a good many others. True they were well punished
for their folly. Most of them were put in irons, and some of them got
death."

"I shouldn't dream of classing myself in their company."

"Every one's in their company who feels a big impulse and has the
courage of it. The trouble with most of us is that we can do the feeling
all right; but when it comes to the execution--well, we like to keep on
the safe side, among the sane."

"So that," Davenant began, stammeringly, "if a fellow got something into
his head--something that couldn't be wrong, you know--something that
would be right--awfully right in its way, but in a way that most people
would consider all wrong--or wild, as I said before--you'd advise
him--?"

"I shouldn't advise him at all. Some things must be spontaneous, or
they're of little use. If a good seed in good ground won't germinate of
its own accord, words of counsel can't help it. But here we are at home.
You won't come in just yet? Very well; you've got your latch-key."

"Good-night, sir. I hope you're not going to think me--well, altogether
an idiot."

"Very likely I shall; but it'll be nothing if I do. If you can't stand a
little thing like that you'd better not have come back with the ideas
that have brought you."

III

Davenant turned away into the moonlit mist. Through it the electric
lamps of Boston, curving in crescent lines by the water's edge, or
sprinkled at random over the hill which the city climbs, shone for him
with the steadiness and quiet comfort inherent in the familiar and the
sure after his long roaming. Lighting a cigarette, he strode along the
cement pavement beside the iron railing below which the river ran
swiftly and soundlessly. At this late hour of the evening he had the
embankment to himself, save for an occasional pair of lovers or a group
of sauntering students. Lights from the dignified old houses--among
which was Rodney Temple's--overlooking the embankment and the Charles
threw out a pleasant glow of friendliness. Beyond the river a