the drama of the thing, he liked to trumpet it out, he goggled round at us. 'Then it is war!' he said. Richover shrugged his shoulders. I made some slight protest and gave in. . . . Afterwards I dreamt of him.
"What a lot we were! All a little scared at ourselves--all, as it were, instrumental. . . .
"And it's fools like that lead to things like this!" He jerked his head at that dead man nearby us.
"It will be interesting to know what has happened to the world. . . . The green vapour--queer stuff. But I know what has happened to me. It's Conversion. I've always known. . . . But this is being a fool. Talk! I'm going to stop it."
He motioned to rise with his clumsy outstretched hands.
"Stop what?" said I, stepping forward instinctively to help him.
"War," he said in his great whisper, putting his big hand on my shoulder but making no further attempt to rise, "I'm going to put an end to war--to any sort of war! And all these things that must end. The world is beautiful, life is great and splendid, we had only to lift up our eyes and see. Think of the glories through which we have been driving, like a herd of swine in a garden palace. The colour in life--the sounds--the shapes! We have had our jealousies,
