"Immitigably. To live in the thick of things and see nothing but the pale drabs and grays. No red anywhere. Oh, for a passion that would burn and sear--love, hate, fear! I'm forever courting them all. And here I am still cool, colorless and unscarred. Only once"--his gray eyes lit up marvelously--"only once did I learn the true relation of life to death, Burnett; only once. That was when the _Blue Wing_ struggled six days in a hurricane with Hatteras under her lee. It was glorious. They may talk of love and hate as they will; fear, I tell you, is the Titan of passions." Burnett was surprised at this unmasking. "You should try big game," he said, carelessly. "I have," said the other; "both beasts and men--and here I am in flannels and a red tie! I've skinned the one and been skinned by the other--to what end?" "You've bought experience." "Cheap at any cost. You can't buy fear. Love comes in varieties at the market values. Hate can be bought for a song; but fear, genuine and amazing, is priceless--a gem which only opportunity can provide; and how seldom opportunity knocks at any man's door!" "Crabb the original--the esoteric!" "Yes. The same. The very same. And you, how different! How sober and rounded!" There was a silence, contemplative, retrospective on both their parts. Crabb broke it. "Tell me, old man," he said, "about your position. Isn't there any chance?" Burnett smiled a little bitterly. "I'm a consular clerk at twelve hundred a year during good behavior. When I've said that, I've said it all." "But your future?" "I'm not in line of promotion." "Impossible! Politics?" "Exactly. I've no pull to speak of." "But your service?" "I've been paid for that." "Isn't there any other way?" "Oh, yes," Burnett laughed, "that treaty. I happened to know something about it when I was out there. It has to do with neutrality, trade ports and coaling stations; but just what, the devil only knows, and his deputy, Baron Arnim, won't tell. Arnim is now in Washington, ostensibly sight-seeing, but really to confer with Von Schlichter, the ambassador there, about it. You see, we've got rather more closely into the Eastern question than we really like, and a knowledge of Germany's attitude is immensely important to us." "Pray go on," drawled Crabb. "That's all there is. The rest was a joke. Crowthers wants me to get the text of that treaty from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box." "Entertaining!" said Crabb, with clouding brow. And then, after a pause, with all the seriousness in the world: "And aren't you going to?" Burnett turned to look at him in surprise. "What?" "Get it. The treaty." "The treaty! From Baron Arnim! You don't know much of diplomacy, Crabb." "You misunderstood me," he said, coolly; and then, with lowered voice: "Not from Baron Arnim--from Baron Arnim's dispatch-box." Burnett looked at his acquaintance in a maze. Crabb had been thought a mystery in the old days. He was an enigma now. "Surely you're jesting."