"I beg your pardon. It is the journalist's interviewing habit. And I thought I recalled, also——"
Lavis seemed to be waiting for Meade to finish, but Meade, who suddenly realized to what he was leading, did not finish; and Lavis turned his head so as to look squarely at Cadogan. Through the half-closed, wistful eyes Cadogan caught a gleam that he again felt was an answer to Meade's unfinished question, and yet was again meant, not for Meade, but for himself.
"But to return," persisted Meade; "how is the world to benefit by your theory that God does not allow a great spirit to die?"
"Well, call it theory. After the mortal death of a man whose dying was a tremendous experience, there will be born again a great soul. And if the being in whom that soul is enshrined is but true to the best in himself, he will attain to the utterance of a great message, compel the world to listen to his message; and the world, having listened, will be for all time the better."
"I suppose"—Meade was by now not wholly free of self-consciousness—"a man should have had a training as a writer to best fit him for such an experience?"
"Writer, sculptor, painter, musician, lawgiver—anything, so that he possesses the germ, the potential power to make others see, hear, or feel things as he does."
"But who aboard this ship possesses such a gift?"
Lavis turned to Cadogan. "Here is the man."
"Who!" Cadogan bounded in his seat; and then, smiling at himself: "That's a good one—I took it seriously."
"Take it seriously, please."