tting beside him--was the
highest product of the present system! With its charm, humanity,
courage, chivalry up to a point, its culture, and its cleanliness, this
decidedly rare flower at the end of a tall stalk, with dark and tortuous
roots and rank foliage, was in a sense the sole justification of power
wielded from above. And was it good enough? Was it quite good enough?
Like so many other thinkers, Felix hesitated to reply. If only merit and
the goods of this world could be finally divorced! If the reward of
virtue were just men's love and an unconscious self-respect! If only 'to
have nothing' were the highest honour! And yet, to do away with this
beside him and put in its place--What? No kiss-me-quick change had a
chance of producing anything better. To scrap the long growth of man and
start afresh was but to say: 'Since in the past the best that man has
done has not been good enough, I have a perfect faith in him for the
future!' No! That was a creed for archangels and other extremists.
Safer to work on what we had! And he began:

"Next door to this estate I'm told there's ten thousand acres almost
entirely grass and covert, owned by Lord Baltimore, who lives in Norfolk,
London, Cannes, and anywhere else that the whim takes him. He comes down
here twice a year to shoot. The case is extremely common. Surely it
spells paralysis. If land is to be owned at all in such great lumps,
owners ought at least to live on the lumps, and to pass very high
examinations as practical farmers. They ought to be the life and soul,
the radiating sun, of their little universes; or else they ought to be
cleared out. How expect keen farming to start from such an example? It
really looks to me as if the game laws would have to go." And he
redoubled his scrutiny of the Bigwig's face. A little furrow in its brow
had deepened visibly, but nodding, he said:

"The absentee landlord is a curse, of course. I'm afraid I'm a bit of a
one myself. And I'm bound to say--though I'm keen on shooting--if the
game laws were abolished, it might do a lot."

"YOU wouldn't move in that direction, I suppose?"

The Bigwig smiled--charming, rather whimsical, that smile.

"Honestly, I'm not up to it. The spirit, you know, but the flesh--! My
line is housing and wages, of course."

'There it is,' thought Felix. 'Up to a point, they'll move--not up to
THE point. It's all fiddling. One won't give up his shooting; another
won't give up