'Out!' exclaimed Rogers, putting down his pipe and staring keenly, first into one eye, then into the other. 'Out?'
'Out—yes,' Minks echoed faintly, wondering why that particular word was chosen. He felt a little startled. This earnest talk, moreover, stirred the subconsciousness in him, so that he remembered that unfinished sonnet he had begun weeks ago at Charing Cross. If he were alone now he could complete it. Lines rose and offered themselves by the dozen. His master's emotion had communicated itself to him. A breath of that ecstasy he had already divined passed through the air between them.
'It's what the Contemplative Orders attempt—-' he continued, yet half to himself, as though a little bemused.
'Out, by George! Out!' Rogers said again.
So emphatic was the tone that Minks half rose from his chair to go.
'No, no,' laughed his chief; 'I don't mean that you're to get out. Forgive my abruptness. The fact is I was thinking aloud a moment. I meant—I mean that you've explained a lot to me I didn't understand before—had never thought about, rather. And it's rather wonderful, you see. In fact, it's very wonderful. Minks,' he added, with the grave enthusiasm of one who has made a big discovery, 'this world is a very wonderful place.'
'It is simply astonishing, Mr. Rogers,' Minks answered with conviction, 'astonishingly beautiful.'
'That's what I mean,' he went on. 'If I think beauty, that beauty may materialise—-'
'Must, will, does materialise, Mr. Rogers, just as your improvements in machinery did. You first thought them out!'
'Then put them into words; yes, and afterwards into metal. Strong thought is bound to realise itself sooner or later, eh? Isn't it all grand and splendid?'