“If you think so, it is little you know of your nature. What you call the genie will have the last word to say on that subject.” “Like every other mud-colored materialist your intelligence is admirably lucid as far as it goes.” “Compliments are flying. But is it not the faculty of youth to despise the common sense to which one day it is only too glad to return?” “I would spew mediocrity out of my mouth,” said Northcote, suddenly overmastered by arrogance. “Common sense and mediocrity are not quite the same; but you can take it from me, dear boy, that genius has always to learn sooner or later that mediocrity has its uses.” The solicitor was amazed to see tears spring to the eyes of the advocate. “I have learnt that already,” he said huskily; “I learnt it last night after the rising of the court.” “I presume you are referring to poor old Bow-wow, the type of all mediocrity.” “Yes, to the poor dear old blunderer who, after the manner of his kind, consecrated his life to a public display of his incapacity. Yet I weep for Adonais, he is dead!” “I say, my boy,” said the solicitor, amazed by the depth of emotion that was revealed in the face of the young man, “you did not suppose for one moment that I was in earnest when I said you had killed him?” “You struck so near to the truth,” said the young man, “that you made me bleed.” “Well, this is a consummate kind of folly. You must feed well; build yourself up; go away for Christmas; take a rest. Future greatness cannot be allowed to play ducks and drakes with its chances.” “I swear to you, Whitcomb, the weight of a feather would make me throw up the bar.” “Impossible! That voice, that presence, that imagination, that extraordinary dynamic quality--in other words, your genie, leaves you no choice.” “I swear to you, Whitcomb, if it were not for my countrified old mother, who has worked her fingers to the bone to provide an education for me, I would never go into court any more.” “Ah, well, I shall continue to send you briefs all the same. I cannot recall another man who has got a start such as yours, and I shall be astounded if through a whim you show yourself unworthy of your good fortune. Here is a check for ‘the monkey’ you won of me at lunch yesterday.” “Five hundred pounds! I don’t remember anything of the circumstances.” “I laid five hundred to fifty against your getting a verdict.” “When?” “At lunch yesterday.” “You must not take any notice of that. I was very excited. I am afraid I was not myself.” “Why afraid? The money is yours.” “I don’t want it; I won’t have it.” Mr. Whitcomb had thrust the check in the hands of the advocate, who tore it up immediately. “Well,” said the solicitor, “I should say at the present time you have undeniable claims to be considered the most remarkable man in London. I can’t fathom what has come over you.” “I was thrown off my balance a little yesterday,” said Northcote hoarsely.