"That seems to me like offering an insult to God," said Piers.
"I don't think He views it in that light," said Crowther, "any more than He blames a blind man for feeling his way. The great thing is to do it—to get started. You're wanting a big thing in life. Well,—ask for it! Don't be afraid of asking! It's what you're meant to do."
He drew a long whiff from his pipe and puffed it slowly forth.
There fell a deep silence between them. Piers sat in absolute stillness, gazing downwards into the fire with eyes still half-closed.
Suddenly he jerked back his head. "It's a bit of a farce, what?" he said. "But I'll do it on your recommendation, I'll give it a six months' trial, and see what comes of it. That's a fair test anyhow. Something ought to turn up in another six months."
He got to his feet with a laugh, and stood in front of Crowther with a species of challenge in his eyes. He looked as if he expected rebuke, and were prepared to meet it with arrogance.
But Crowther uttered neither reproach nor admonition. He met the look with the utmost kindliness—the most complete understanding.
"Something will turn up, lad," he said, with steady conviction. "But not—probably—in the way you expect."
Piers' face showed a momentary surprise. "How on earth do you know?" he said.
"I do know," Crowther made steadfast reply; but he offered no explanation for his confidence.