He sat himself up to stuff a fresh bowl of tobacco, while he pursued:
'Yes, yes: you worship your aristocracy. It is notorious. You have a sort
of sagacity. I am not prepared to contest the statement that you have a
political instinct. Here it is chiefly social. You worship your so-called
aristocracy perforce in order to preserve an ideal of contrast to the
vulgarity of the nation.'

This was downright insolence.

It was intolerable. I jumped on my feet. 'The weapons I would use in
reply to such remarks I cannot address to you, Herr Professor. Therefore,
excuse me.'

He sent out quick spirts of smoke rolling into big volumes. 'Nay, my good
young Englishman, but on the other hand you have not answered me. And
hear me: yes, you have shown us a representation of freedom. True. But
you are content with it in a world that moves by computation some
considerable sum upwards of sixty thousand miles an hour.'

'Not on a fresh journey--a recurring course!' said I.

'Good!' he applauded, and I was flattered.

'I grant you the physical illustration,' the Professor continued, and
with a warm gaze on me, I thought. 'The mind journeys somewhat in that
way, and we in our old Germany hold that the mind advances
notwithstanding. Astronomers condescending to earthly philosophy may
admit that advance in the physical universe is computable, though not
perceptible. Some--whither we tend, shell and spirit. You English,
fighting your little battles of domestic policy, and sneering at us for
flying at higher game, you unimpressionable English, who won't believe in
the existence of aims that don't drop on the ground before your eyes, and
squat and stare at you, you assert that man's labour is completed when
the poor are kept from crying out. Now my question is, have you a scheme
of life consonant with the spirit of modern philosophy--with the views of
intelligent, moral, humane human beings of this period? Or are you one of
your robust English brotherhood worthy of a Caligula in his prime, lions
in gymnastics--for a time; sheep always in the dominions of mind; and all
of one pattern, all in a rut! Favour me with an outline of your ideas.
Pour them out pell-mell, intelligibly or not, no matter. I undertake to
catch you somewhere. I mean to know you, hark you, rather with your
assistance than without it.'

We were deep in the night. I had not a single idea ready for delivery. I
could have told him, that wishing was a good thing, excess o