“Come, now, to the third and highest level, where I maintain my Intellectual Cowards at a great expense. They are the very costly specimens, for they come chiefly from the places of elevated culture.” While he was speaking, we ascended a cast-iron stairway inlaid with arabesques. The Excelsior let down a narrow, filigree draw-bridge which was the only means of access to the tier of intellectual cowards. We ambled across it, and the Excelsior made a sweep with his cane, exclaiming: “Look at them! Are they not ludicrous? You have often heard the adjective contemptible applied to cowardice. The application came from this sect. These are the contemptible cowards. They lack the courage of their convictions. And the curious fact is that these persons are proud of their cowardice, because they call it another name--self-preservation, which includes self-appreciation.” Here the Excelsior turned upon me. “Did it ever occur to you,” he asked, “that a humbug is at heart a coward? A humbug is simply one who is afraid to be himself for fear it may not pay. As an example, one of the oldest and most harmful devices of the humbug is to titulate the imagination with smut under the pretense of being outspoken. That is why you see so many modern playwrights and novelists amongst them. If they were really clean-minded and earnest in their work, they would not have to adopt such false methods.” The Excelsior took me to the other end of the balcony where a ball was in progress. “Here are some more humbugs,” he began, “indeed by far the majority of humbugs are found among the so-called fashionable classes. These specimens came from the esoteric ‘sets’ of your society folk.” “Do you allow them to carry on their same diversions?” I asked, noticing the luxurious furnishings and grandeur. “Oh yes,” answered the Excelsior, “otherwise they would languish and die. Look at that grand lady there in the gilt arm-chair. She is a famous leader. She has composure, but nothing to compose. “Can you see that loose-jointed male specimen, stroking his blond mustache. How very haughty he is! He is exclusive, for fear of being excluded. “These are all cowards, you understand, because they are imitated poses. Imitation is a confession that you lack the stamina to be yourself.” My brain was buzzing with the Excelsior’s concentrated talk. He gave me some relief by asking me to follow him into a wing of the building. He unlocked a suite of private apartments. In the dining-room there sat five persons.