had won the Hurdles, but been beaten by his
Cambridge opponent; he had taken a fair second in Greats, was believed to
have been 'runner up' for the Newdigate prize poem, and might have won
other laurels, but that he was found to do the female parts very fairly
in the dramatic performances of the University, a thing irreconcilable
with study. His father was a rural dean. Merton's most obvious vice was
a thirst for general information. 'I know it is awfully bad form to know
anything,' he had been heard to say, 'but everyone has his failings, and
mine is occasionally useful.'

Logan was tall, dark, athletic and indolent. He was, in a way, the last
of an historic Scottish family, and rather fond of discoursing on the
ancestral traditions. But any satisfaction that he derived from them
was, so far, all that his birth had won for him. His little patrimony
had taken to itself wings. Merton was in no better case. Both, as they
sat together, were gloomily discussing their prospects.

In the penumbra of smoke, and the malignant light of an ill trimmed lamp,
the Great Idea was to be evolved. What consequences hung on the Great
Idea! The peace of families insured, at a trifling premium. Innocence
rescued. The defeat of the subtlest criminal designers: undreamed of
benefits to natural science! But I anticipate. We return to the
conversation in the Ryder Street den.

'It is a case of emigration or the workhouse,' said Logan.

'Emigration! What can you or I do in the Colonies? They provide even
their own ushers. My only available assets, a little Greek and less
Latin, are drugs in the Melbourne market,' answered Merton; 'they breed
their own dominies. Protection!'

'In America they might pay for lessons in the English accent . . . ' said
Logan.

'But not,' said Merton, 'in the Scotch, which is yours; oh distant cousin
of a marquis! Consequently by rich American lady pupils "you are not one
to be desired."'

'Tommy, you are impertinent,' said Logan. 'Oh, hang it, where is there
an opening, a demand, for the broken, the stoney broke? A man cannot
live by casual paragraphs alone.'

'And these generally reckoned "too high-toned for our readers,"' said
Merton.

'If I could get the secretaryship of a golf club!' Logan sighed.

'If you could get the Chancellorship of the Exchequer! I reckon that
there are two million applicants for secretaryships of golf clubs.'

'Or a land agency,' Logan murmured.

'Oh,