“Being an old sailor, no doubt he won’t,” said Mr. Pinhey. He won Miss Barefoot’s support, however, and then skirmished in the neighbourhood of the vat house. Jordan was not there, and after Mr. Life had appended his signature and Harold Spry, Kellock’s coucher, had declined to do so, Nicholas approached Philander Knox. “I don’t know your exact opinions,” he said; “but I should be glad if you can feel on this subject with most of us serious people. You know the facts and feel it oughtn’t to go on, I expect—that is if you take life seriously, as no doubt you do.” “The thing is to take other people’s lives seriously and your own pretty light,” said Knox. “That’s the best way, because it keeps your sense of proportion about fair, Pinhey.” Nicholas liked these problems, but was doubtful here. “Do you mean as a matter of morals?” he asked. “No—as a matter of business,” replied Philander. “Because if you put yourself first always, your fellow creatures will be mighty quick to put you second, or third, or out of the running altogether. Nobody bores people worse than the man who is always thinking about himself. But if you show a proper interest in others and their hopes and fears and likes and dislikes, then the better sort will gladly give as well as take. If you want anything for nothing in this world, you won’t get it; but the more you give, the more you’ll receive, in my experience. In the matter of giving don’t stint and don’t squander; and don’t give where you’ll get nothing back of course—that’s foolish.” Mr. Pinhey shook his head. “Worldly wise, not heavenly wise,” he declared. “Be so good as to read this document, Knox, and let me have the pleasure of seeing you sign it. It’s the elder people I want to do so. In fact I’m not showing it to the young ones. Better such things should not enter their innocent minds.” Mr. Knox read Kellock’s indictment and grinned. “What do you know of sin, you old caterpillar?” he asked very rudely. “Good powers, my man, d’you see what you’re doing? You’re shaving with a blunt razor over another chap’s wounds. Blow out reason’s candle if you like to walk without light; but don’t from your darkness presume to show other people their road. That’s damned impertinent and only makes the other sort cuss.” Mr. Pinhey shrank resentfully. “If you make reason your guide,” he said, “God help you, Philander Knox. And—” “Tear it up—tear it up and save Trenchard the trouble, Pinhey. Be guided by a man who’s moved in a larger world than yourself.” “A larger and a wickeder world, if you can talk like that about sin,” answered Nicholas, who had grown pinker than his paper. “I’m not talking about sin. I’d as soon talk about sin to a bluebottle as you. You’re one of the born good sort, you are, and the funny thing is that you’ve worked in the same business with Kellock all these years and years and don’t know he’s the same order of creation as yourself. Why, my dear man, he might be your son!”