And now of the influences which shaped that quest of "the highest things." There were the conversations in our Secret Society, the "Centre-Seekers." Picture a winter's eve, a cosy fire, a weird hall, and a group whose initiation oath was simply "I promise to be sincere." "There is the solution of Epicurus," remarks Holyoake, our Agnostic; "Pleasure, at least, is real. Wrap yourself in it, for you can do no better. Contentment is but one pleasure, as Salvation is another, and even sensuality may be best to you." "How about the man who lives for his children?" asked young Fred. Lyle, whose ruddy face was made brighter by the fire glow. "He has his enjoyment reflected from theirs." "What do you think of the friend in 'Vanity Fair,' who helps his rival?" "One of the fools," replied Holyoake, with an air of settling the matter. Lyle reflected. "I can't believe it that way," he said thoughtfully. One member was Lome Riddle; a big bluff chap with a promising moustache, encouraged by private, tuition. "Come along there, Haviland," he exclaimed, "a nob like you should be one of the 'boys!'" These fellows don't know what life is--but to think of a man of muscle going back on us! "Kick not against the prigs, Riddle!" cried Little Steele in facetious delight. "Riddle, Riddle, thou art but a poor Philistine." "A man of Gath," contributed another. "The Philistine has his uses. He is the successful of Evolution," pronounced Holyoake. "The future will see methods better than Evolution," answered Brether, our great firm Scotchman. "If so, they will be of it," retorted the Agnostic. "Now just kindly let up on that a little." Riddle continued, "you fellows are too confounded theoretical for me. What's the good of going round congesting your cerebrums about problems you can't settle? I say let a fellow go it while he's young--moderately you know--and when he is old he will not regret the same. You fellows swot, and I sit in the orchestra chairs. You read your digestions to rack and ruin--or else you've got to be so mighty careful,--while I put in a fine gourmand's dinner every day, attended with the comforts of civilization. I dance while you are working up unsuccessful essays. The world owes nothing to fellows who do that. If you're fools enough to want to benefit the world, turn your minds to steam engines and telegraphs, that cheapen dinners and save us running, and I'll give you my blessing in spare moments when I've nothing to do. I take a kind of melancholy interest in this institution, you know, but honestly upon my word, I hate your rational style, and I wouldn't for the world go round like a walking problem and have the fellows call me '_For_lorne Riddle.' The place where I enjoy myself most,--our private theatrical club,--is called the 'Inconsistents' on that principle. We don't care about being correct. We know we have the prettiest girls and chummiest fellows in town, and we're all right."