“With observations to that same general effect,” Gerald answered, “I am not unfamiliar. But let us make the thing complete! Do you now voice, here in your murky pigsty, one or another long-winded restatement of the fact that time disastrously affects all organic material. You will then, I think, have summed up the entire philosophy of the Marches of Antan. Perhaps it is a true philosophy. Nevertheless, that philosophy is a morbid materialism such as does not amuse me, who am a self-respecting citizen of the United States of America. No: I had far rather play with a beautiful idea than with one utterly lacking in seductiveness. So I prefer to think that the gods and the dreams of men pass to a noble and a worthy goal—” It was then that Horvendile sighed, a bit despondently. “Ah, Gerald, but how may you presume to speak of such matters, who did not attain to Antan?” “My friend,” replied Gerald, affably, “I was too wise to risk any such indiscretion. No: I did not enter into my appointed kingdom; and I have destroyed it. Therefore it must remain, so long as I remain, whatever I choose to imagine it. I retain the privilege of playing with a beautiful idea, in just the proper half-remorseful frame of mind which begets the most luxuriant fancies—” “But—” Horvendile began. “No, my dear fellow, you are quite wrong.” Horvendile said, “Still—” “Yes, there is something in that, at first glance, yet it does not really touch the root of the matter.” Horvendile protested, “I was but going to say—” “I know! I perfectly comprehend your argument. And I admit that you phrase it forcefully. The trouble is that you are wrong in your underlying principle.” Horvendile said, “However—”