"There's a type of man," interrupted Radley, "who'd start a prairie fire, if it were the only way to light his pipe." "Exactly. And I am he." "Good God!" repeated Chappy. "And, after peace is declared, I shall settle down to a comfortable life at the club." "It's a relief," smiled Radley, "that you won't lead a revolution and usurp the throne." "Too much trouble. I may go into Parliament, which is a comfortable job. On the Tory side, of course, because there you don't have to think." "You've about fifty years of life," suggested Radley. "And don't you want to do anything constructive in that time?" "Not in these trousers! I know that, if I were sincere and constructive in my politics, I should be a Socialist. It stands to reason that it can't be right for all the wealth to be in the pockets of the few, and for there to be a distinct and cocky governing class. But, as I want to amass wealth and enjoy the position of the ruling class, I shall be careful not to think out my politics, lest I develop a pernicious Socialism." "Oh, Lord!" groaned the doctor. "I think _I_'m a Socialist," suddenly put in Doe, and Chappy turned to him, dumbfounded to witness the eruption of a second youth. "I've long thought that, when I find my feet in politics, I shall be in the Socialist camp. They may be visionary, but they are idealists. And I think it's up to us public-schoolboys to lead the great mass of uneducated people, who can't articulate their needs. I'd love to be their leader." "What you're going to be," said Radley, "is an intellectual rebel. When you go up to Oxford in a year or so, you'll pose as most painfully intellectual. You'll be a Socialist in Politics, a Futurist in Art, and a Modernist or Ultramontane in Religion--anything that's a rebellion against the established order. At all costs let us be original and outrageous." "Hear, hear," whispered Penny. "Ray has been the strong, silent man so far," said Radley. "Let's hear his Castle in the Air." "For God's sake--" began Chappy. "Speech! Speech!" demanded Pennybet. "Oh, I don't know," demurred I. "I've not many ideas. I generally think I'd like to be a country squire, very popular among the tenants, who'd have my photo on their dressers. And I'd send them all hares and pheasants at Christmas and be interested in their drains--" I was elaborating this picture, when Penny, feeling that he had made his speech and was not particularly interested in anyone else's, glanced at a gold wrist-watch, and decided that it was time for him to go. He made a peculiarly effective exit, his hat tilted at what he called a "damn-your-eyes" angle. Never again did Doe or I see him, though we heard of his doings. God speed to him, our cocksure Pennybet. Let us always think the best of him. No sooner had the door clicked than Chappy exploded. "That high youth ought to have his trousers taken down and be birched. What are we coming to, when boys like him lecture their elders on how to run the world?"