That's the most ghastly heresy of
all. It's the soul, my dear chap, the soul that's the arbiter of
cosmic forces. When you see a cosmic force you don't like, trick
it, my boy. But I must really be off."
"Come and pitch into us again," came the laughing voice from out
of the house. "We still have some bones unbroken."
"Thanks very much, I will--good night," shouted Grant, who had by
this time reached the street.
"Good night," came the friendly call in reply, before the door
closed.
"Basil," said Rupert Grant, in a hoarse whisper, "what are we to
do?"
The elder brother looked thoughtfully from one of us to the other.
"What is to be done, Basil?" I repeated in uncontrollable
excitement.
"I'm not sure," said Basil doubtfully. "What do you say to getting
some dinner somewhere and going to the Court Theatre tonight? I
tried to get those fellows to come, but they couldn't."
We stared blankly.
"Go to the Court Theatre?" repeated Rupert. "What would be the good
of that?"
"Good? What do you mean?" answered Basil, staring also. "Have you
turned Puritan or Passive Resister, or something? For fun, of
course."
"But, great God in Heaven! What are we going to do, I mean!" cried
Rupert. "What about the poor woman locked up in that house? Shall I
go for the police?"
Basil's face cleared with immediate comprehension, and he laughed.
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