“And the consciousness of best employing the best that is in you,” he continued. “Who dare shorten the reach or blunt the nicety of man’s wit, make purblind the imagination, stiffen the cunning hand? Tell men that in some Indian sea, fathoms deep, lie hid forever Spanish galleons in which doubloons and moidores, as when honey more than fills the comb, almost drip from their sacks, and you will see in their sudden thoughtfulness how quickly they appreciate such loss; tell them, if you can, what, through poverty, erring endeavor, uncongenial occupation, the world with each year loses in intellectual riches, and they will stand heedless.” Speaking with the incomparable confidence of youth, its own glorious nonsense, the young man’s voice sent old Maskelyne’s blood hastening through his veins in almost audible pulsations. “What if I do not wish great wealth,” the speaker continued, “must I be made to have it? I want but little. Give me food, clothing, habitation, sufficient that my eyes may see the delights this world has to show, that my ears may catch the whispered harmonies of all things beautiful, gladden me with the radiance of common joy, and that’s all I want. Who is unreasonable when what he wants is all he wants? Are the worldly so insecure that, as the frightened kings sought to still beneath their tread the first throb of the French Revolution, they must stamp out the first symptom of revolt against the almighty dollar? “‘Chi si diverte di poco, è ricco di molto.’ Mr. Maskelyne, must I eat when I am only thirsty, drink when I am only hungry?” He paused, and glanced triumphantly at the old man. He felt in some secret, instinctive way that he was gaining ground. A squadron of fauns had charged from amid the vine-leaves, and the legion upon the highway was in rout. Fine sense was victorious for the moment over common sense. “I think,” said Maskelyne, at last, and with a strange, sad, patient air, unwearied, however, by the young man’s dithyrambic, sometimes almost incoherent speech, “I think I cannot attempt to advise you. Having discarded the wisdom of ages, what heed will you give the wisdom of age?” A cloud seemed to cast its shadow over the other’s face. Could it be that, lost in himself, he had spoken almost in presumptuous disrespect to a man so distinguished, to a man whom he honored and whom he felt that he could even like? “If I speak strongly,” he said, “it is because I feel strongly. If I did not feel strongly I would not attempt to withstand the amount of testimony against me.” “Might I ask,” said Maskelyne, gently, in his inexplicable sympathy with the young fellow, “why, if you feel such confidence in all you say, you do not, without hesitation, enter on a life in accordance with your convictions?” At last there was hesitation in the young stranger’s manner. He turned his hat nervously in his hand, and sat silent for a moment.