red as important as
Ferguson was Benson; and he had good reason to believe that every one
would get on well enough without Benson. He had just time, then, to put
on a life-preserver, melt into his stateroom, and get a little pile of
notes, very important ones, and drop into a boat. No, don't interrupt. I
know what you are going to say. 'Women and children.' What do you
suppose a lot of Neapolitan peasants meant to Ferguson--or to you and
me, either? He didn't do anything outrageous; he just dropped into a
boat. As a result, we had the big book a year later. No" (again
crushing down a gesture of Chantry's), "don't say anything about the
instincts of a gentleman. If Ferguson hadn't been perfectly cool, his
instincts would have governed him. He would have dashed about trying to
save people, and then met the waves with a noble gesture. He had time to
be reasonable; not instinctive. The world was the gainer, as he jolly
well knew it would be--or where would have been the reasonableness? I
don't believe Ferguson cared a hang about keeping his individual machine
going for its own sake. But he knew he was a valuable person. His mind
was a Kohinoor among minds. It stands to reason that you save the
Kohinoor and let the little stones go. Well, that's not the story. Only
I wanted to get that out of the way first, or the story wouldn't have
meant anything. Did you wish," he finished graciously, "to ask a
question?"

Chantry made a violent gesture of denial. "Ask a question about a hog
like that? God forbid!"

"Um-m-m." Havelock seemed to muse within himself. "You will admit that
if a jury of impartial men of sense could have sat, just then, on that
slanting deck, they would have agreed that Ferguson's life was worth
more to the world than all the rest of the boiling put together?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, there wasn't any jury. Ferguson had to be it. I am perfectly sure
that if there had been a super-Ferguson on board, our Ferguson would
have turned his hand to saving him first. In fact, I honestly believe he
was sorry there hadn't been a super-Ferguson. For he had all the
instincts of a gentleman; and it's never a pleasant job making your
reason inhibit your instincts. You can't look at this thing perfectly
straight, probably. But if you can't, who can? I don't happen to want an
enlightened opinion; I've got one, right here at home. You don't care
about the State: you want to put it into white petticoats and see it
cross a muddy