"It sure did, old Ironsides. Heaven protected her own this time. And in 'The Real Thing' you have ridden farther out among the people with your Bible and your Sword than you ever have penetrated by brandishing both from the immemorial but immobile battlements of righteousness. Truth _is_ a citadel, old fellow; but its garrison should be raiders, not defenders. And they should ride far afield to carry its message. For few journey to that far citadel; you must go to them. And does it make any difference what vehicle you employ in the cause of Truth--so that the message arrives somewhere before your vehicle breaks down of its own heaviness? Novel or poem, sermon or holy writ--it's all one, Karl, so that they get there with their burden." Westguard sat silent a moment, then thumped the table, emphatically. "If I had your wasted talents," he said, "I could write anything!" "Rot!" "As you please. You use your ability rottenly--that's true enough." "My ability," mimicked Quarren. "Yes, your many, many talents, Rix. God knows why He gave them to you; I don't--for you use them ignobly, when you do not utterly neglect them----" "I've a light and superficial talent for entertaining people; I've nimble legs, and possess a low order of intelligence known as 'tact.' What more have I?" "You're the best amateur actor in New York, for example." "An _amateur_," sneered Quarren. "That is to say, a man who has the inclinations, but neither the courage, the self-respect, nor the ambition of the professional.... Well, I admit that. I lack something--courage, I think. I prefer what is easy. And I'm doing it." "What's your reward?" said Westguard bluntly. "Reward? Oh, I don't know. The inner temple. I have the run of the premises. People like me, trust me, depend upon me more or less. The intrigues and politics of my little world amuse me; now and then I act as ambassador, as envoy of peace, as herald, as secret diplomatic agent.... Reward? Oh, yes--you didn't suppose that my real-estate operations clothed and fed me, did you, Karl?" "What does?" "Diplomacy," explained Quarren gaily. "A successful embassy is rewarded. How? Why, now and then a pretty woman's husband makes an investment for me at his own risk; now and then, when my office is successfully accomplished, I have my fee as social attorney or arbiter elegantiarum.... There are, perhaps, fewer separations and divorces on account of me; fewer scandals. "I am sometimes called into consultation, _in extremis_; I listen, I advise--sometimes I plan and execute; even take the initiative and interfere--as when a foolish boy at the Cataract Club, last week, locked himself into the bath-room with an automatic revolver and a case of half-drunken fright. I had to be very careful; I expected to hear that drumming fusillade at any moment. "But I talked to him, through the keyhole: and at last he opened the door--to take a shot at me, first." Quarren shrugged and lighted a cigarette.