VII — The Real Test
I
"It depends entirely," remarked the Great Doctor, twirling an empty wine-glass in his long, sensitive fingers, "what you mean by fear. The common interpretation of the word—the method which I think you would use to portray it on the stage"—he turned to the Celebrated Actor, who was helping himself to a cigarette from a silver box on the table in front of him—"would show a nervous shrinking from doing a thing: a positive distaste to it—a probable refusal, finally, to carry out the action. And rightly or wrongly—but very naturally—that emotion is the object of universal scorn. But——" and the Great Doctor paused thoughtfully—"is there no more in fear than that?"
The Well-known Soldier drained his port. "It would be a platitude to remark," he said, "that the successful overcoming of fear is the highest form of bravery."
"That if, for instance, our young friend had overcome his fear this afternoon," said the Rising Barrister, "and had jumped in after that horrible little dog, it would have been an act of the highest bravery."
"Or the most stupid bravado," supplemented the Celebrated Actor.
"Precisely my point," exclaimed the Great Doctor. "What is the dividing line between bravado and bravery?"
The Well-known Soldier looked thoughtful. "The man," he said at length, "who exposes himself to being killed or wounded when there is no necessity, with probably—at the bottom of his mind—a desire to show off, is guilty of culpable bravado. The man who, when his battalion is faltering, exposes himself to certain death to hold them is brave."
"Two extreme cases," answered the Doctor. "Narrow it down, General. What is the dividing line?"
"I suppose," murmured the Soldier, "when the results justify the sacrifice. No man has a right to throw his life away uselessly."