back of all sorts of mental trouble. It is a new state of mind.
Before the war it was abnormal--a phase of neurasthenia. Now it is
almost the normal state with whole classes of intelligent people.
Intelligent, I say. The others always have been casual and adventurous
and always will be. A loss of confidence in the general background of
life. So that we seem to float over abysses."

"We do," said Sir Richmond.

"And we have nothing but the old habits and ideas acquired in the days
of our assurance. There is a discord, a jarring."

The doctor pursued his train of thought. "A new, raw and dreadful sense
of responsibility for the universe. Accompanied by a realization that
the job is overwhelmingly too big for us."

"We've got to stand up to the job," said Sir Richmond. "Anyhow, what
else is there to do? We MAY keep things together.... I've got to do my
bit. And if only I could hold myself at it, I could beat those fellows.
But that's where the devil of it comes in. Never have I been so desirous
to work well in my life. And never have I been so slack and weak-willed
and inaccurate.... Sloppy.... Indolent.... VICIOUS!..."

The doctor was about to speak, but Sir Richmond interrupted him. "What's
got hold of me? What's got hold of me? I used to work well enough. It's
as if my will had come untwisted and was ravelling out into separate
strands. I've lost my unity. I'm not a man but a mob. I've got to
recover my vigour. At any cost."

Again as the doctor was about to speak the word was taken out of his
mouth. "And what I think of it, Dr. Martineau, is this: it's fatigue.
It's mental and moral fatigue. Too much effort. On too high a level. And
too austere. One strains and fags. FLAGS! 'Flags' I meant to say. One
strains and flags and then the lower stuff in one, the subconscious
stuff, takes control."

There was a flavour of popularized psychoanalysis about this, and the
doctor drew in the corners of his mouth and gave his head a critical
slant. "M'm." But this only made Sir Richmond raise his voice and
quicken his speech. "I want," he said, "a good tonic. A pick-me-up,
a stimulating harmless drug of some sort. That's indicated anyhow. To
begin with. Something to pull me together, as people say. Bring me up to
the scratch again."

"I don't like the use of drugs," said the doctor.

The expectation of Sir Richmond's expression changed to disappointment.
"But that's not reasonable," he cried. "That's not reasonable. That'