that he had taken the book from a cupboard usually locked. Martin
had found the key by accident while his uncle was up in town and could
not resist the temptation to look through the hidden literature. So he
put the books away and remained silent.

But when he went back to Elfrey he felt that he could no longer
restrain the gushing fountain of secularism, and he determined to talk
to a Berneyite called Gregson. Martin was sixteen and a member of the
Upper Sixth: Gregson was a year older and in the same form. He was
much less adaptable than Martin, hated all games, and had taken up the
position of school heretic. In the evenings they used to settle the
problem of the universe over cocoa and sardines, and there was nothing
on which they had not touched. Martin had picked up some revolutionary
politics from his uncle and he was delighted to find in Gregson a
disciple of William Morris. At one time they had been joint leaders of
Liberalism in the school debating society (they had one follower in a
house of thirty), but now, to the great joy of the Tories, they turned
to Socialism and lashed their former supporter. Consequently it was
natural for Martin to approach Gregson on the subject of doubt, and to
his great surprise he found that Gregson knew all about it. As a
matter of fact there could have been few more fruitful grounds for the
seed of scepticism than Gregson's soul. Gregson had an acute
hair-splitting brain and an abhorrence of emotion: he came from a
country parsonage, and he had to attend church in the holidays whether
he liked it or not: moreover he had a brother at the varsity who
possessed a great genius for blasphemy and a quantity of rationalist
pamphlets. Gregson took up comparative religion, used long words, and
became very bitter.

"Why didn't you let on that you were an agnostic?" asked Martin.

"Oh, it's no use. They think you're wicked. It's best to wait till
you have escaped from this prison before you open your lips."

"But you might have told me."

"I thought I'd let you find out for yourself. It was bound to happen."

Martin was surprised at Gregson's certainty.

"Bound?" he asked. "Very few people doubt."

"All rational people doubt," said Gregson with decision. "Tell me
this. How can God be all-good and all-powerful and leave misery in the
world?"

Martin had a vague idea that there was an answer to this. "Training, I
suppose," he answered weakly.

"Yes, that's wha