is phrase had a mysterious effect. Resisting an impulse to
discover what he really was, he answered hastily:

"Of course I'm not!"

The parson followed up his triumph, and, shifting the ground of the
discussion from Shelton's to his own, he gravely said:

"Surely you must see that your theory is founded in immorality. It is,
if I may say so, extravagant, even wicked."

But Shelton, suffering from irritation at his own dishonesty, replied
with heat:

"Why not say at once, sir, 'hysterical, unhealthy'? Any opinion which
goes contrary to that of the majority is always called so, I believe."

"Well," returned the parson, whose eyes seemed trying to bind Shelton to
his will, "I must say your ideas do seem to me both extravagant and
unhealthy. The propagation of children is enjoined of marriage."

Shelton bowed above his blanket, but the parson did not smile.

"We live in very dangerous times," he said, "and it grieves me when a man
of your standing panders to these notions."

"Those," said Shelton, "whom the shoe does n't pinch make this rule of
morality, and thrust it on to such as the shoe does pinch."

"The rule was never made," said the parson; "it was given us."

"Oh!" said Shelton, "I beg your pardon." He was in danger of forgetting
the delicate position he was in. "He wants to ram his notions down my
throat," he thought; and it seemed to him that the parson's face had
grown more like a mule's, his accent more superior, his eyes more
dictatorial: To be right in this argument seemed now of great importance,
whereas, in truth, it was of no importance whatsoever. That which,
however, was important was the fact that in nothing could they ever have
agreed.

But Crocker had suddenly ceased to snore; his head had fallen so that a
peculiar whistling arose instead. Both Shelton and the parson looked at
him, and the sight sobered them.

"Your friend seems very tired," said the parson.

Shelton forgot all his annoyance, for his host seemed suddenly pathetic,
with those baggy garments, hollow cheeks, and the slightly reddened nose
that comes from not imbibing quite enough. A kind fellow, after all!

The kind fellow rose, and, putting his hands behind his back, placed
himself before the blackening fire. Whole centuries of authority stood
behind him. It was an accident that the mantelpiece was chipped and
rusty, the fire-irons bent and worn, his linen frayed about the cuffs.

"I don't wish to dictate," s