" He threw up his arms with a wild gesture,--
"The worst of crimes! Do I not know it!"
Thord took him gently by the shoulder.
"You talk, Zouche, as you always talk, at random, scarcely knowing, and
certainly not half meaning what you say. There is no real reason in
your rages against fate and fortune. Leave the accursed drink, and you
may still win the prize you covet--Fame."
"Not I!" said Zouche scornfully,--"Fame in its original sense belonged
also to the growing-time of the world--when, proud of youth and the
glow of life, the full-fledged man judged himself immortal. Fame now is
adjudged to the biped-machine who drives a motor-car best,--or to the
fortunate soap-boiler who dines with a king! Poetry is understood to be
the useful rhyme which announces the virtues of pills and boot-
blacking! Mark you, Sergius!--my latest volume was 'graciously accepted
by the King'! Do you know what that means?"
"No," replied Thord, a trifle coldly; "And if it were not that I know
your strange vagaries, I should say you wronged your election as one of
us, to send any of your work to a crowned fool!"
Zouche laughed discordantly.
"You would? No, you would not, my Sergius, if you knew the spirit in
which I sent it! A spirit as wild, as reckless, as ranting, as defiant
as ever devil indulged in! The humility of my presentation letter to
his Majesty was beautiful! The reply of the flunkey-secretary was
equally beautiful in smug courtesy: 'Sir, I am commanded by the King to
thank you for the book of poems you have kindly sent for his
acceptance!' I say again, Thord, do you know what it means?"
"No; I only wish that instead of talking here, you would let me see you
safely home.
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