He wanted to tell it in Millsborough for the reason that it was the only place where he could be sure of being listened to. Nowhere else could he hope to attract the same attention. He wanted to attract attention--to advertise, if any cared to put it that way. It was the business man in him that had insisted upon Millsborough. In Millsborough, for a time--for quite a long time--this thing would be the chief topic of conversation. Men would discuss it, argue around it, think about it when alone. In Millsborough he had influence. In Millsborough, if anywhere, he might hope to find followers. For twenty years he had been held up to the youth of Millsborough as a shining example: the man who had climbed, the man who had “got on,” the man who had won all the rewards the devil promises to those who will fall down and worship him, wealth, honour, power--the kingdoms of the earth. He stood for the type of Millsborough’s hero: the clever man, the knowing man, the successful man; the man who always got the best of the bargain; the man who always came out on top; the man who whatever might happen to others always managed to fall on his feet. “Keep your eye on Anthony Strong’nth’arm.” In Millsborough it had become a saying. The man to be in with, the man to put your money on, the man God always prospered. He could hear them--see their round, staring eyes. He could not help but grin as he thought of it. Anthony Strong’nth’arm declines a peerage. Anthony Strong’nth’arm resigns his chairmanship of this, that and the other most prosperous concern; his directorship in half a dozen high dividend-paying companies; gets rid of his vast holdings in twenty sound profitable enterprises; gives up his great office in St. Aldys Close, furniture, fittings and goodwill all included; writes a courteous letter of farewell to all his wealthy clients; takes a seven-roomed house in Bruton Square, rent thirty-two pounds a year; puts up his plate on the door: “Anthony John Strong’nth’arm, Solicitor. Also Commissioner for Oaths. Office hours, ten to four.” What’s the meaning of it? The man is not a fool. Has never, at any time, shown indications of insanity. What’s he up to? What’s come into his head? If it’s God he is thinking of, what’s wrong with the church or the chapel, or even the Pope, if he must have a change? Does he want a religion all to himself? Is it the poor that are troubling him? He’d do better for them, going on with his money-making, giving them ten--twenty, fifty per cent., if he liked, of his profits. What is the explanation? What does he say about it--Anthony Strong’nth’arm himself? They would have to listen to him. If only from curiosity they would hear him out to the end. It might be but a nine days’ wonder; the talk grow tiresome, the laughter die away. That was not his affair. He wanted to help. He was sure this was the best thing he could do.