e supernatural than we realized. Well, I'm game. Life, after all,
is only a few more summers and a few more winters, even if we live it
out. Go to it, Simec." There was sort of a reckless ring in the writer's
voice which was taken as a sign that he was seriously impressed. But
Bates would be; he had imagination and was temperamental.

"I wish you all would stop." Bessie Dane's voice was childishly
plaintive.

"Nick, please!" cried Evelyn. "This is not at all funny."

"I don't see the joke, I must confess," grumbled Allison.

Evelyn wished that Latham or his wife would add weight to the protest,
but they remained silent, staring curiously at the inventor, as, indeed,
they had throughout. Now she thought of it, she realized that the two
had remained practically aloof from the discussion that had preceded
Simec's _denouement_.

"I'm afraid, Simec," said Colcord crisply, "that we're getting a bit
unpopular. We'd better drop the subject. It was rather a cheap play,
I'll admit, stacking myself up as a martyr in a wholly impossible
situation. You called me--and Bates there--rather cleverly.... The
drinks are on us.... At the same time I meant what I said, even if it
was far-fetched; I mean I was sincere."

Simec threw out his arm in a long, bony gesture.

"I am perfectly convinced of that. That is why I am going to ask you to
make your offer good."

Had it come from any one else there would have been derisive laughter.
But Simec, a man to whom had been credited so much of mystery and
achievement, was speaking. In the soft crimson glow of the table he
stood, reducing to practical application the very situation which they
had found so attractive, only because of its utter grotesque
impossibility. It was startling, grimly thrilling. There was the sense
among some about the table of struggling mentally to break the spell
which this coldly unemotional creature of science had cast. At length
Dane spoke as though by sheer physical effort.

"Simec--we--we all know you're a genius. But just now you don't quite
get over."

The inventor turned his head slowly toward the speaker.

"I don't think I quite understand."

"Rats," said Dane roughly. "Here Nick says he'd give up his life if the
war could be stopped and you bob up and tell him to make good, throwing
sort of a Faust effect over the whole dinner. All right for Nick and
Arnold Bates--but how about you, Simec? How will you stop the war if
they shuffle off? I'll bite on