Hilary ceased to smile. “Cure me, then,” he said, with sudden anger, “you man of health!”
The young “Sanitist's” sallow cheeks flushed. “Atrophy of the nerve of action,” he muttered; “there's no cure for that!”
“Ah!” said Hilary: “All kinds of us want social progress in our different ways. You, your grandfather, my brother, myself; there are four types for you. Will you tell me any one of us is the right man for the job? For instance, action's not natural to me.”
“Any act,” answered Martin, “is better than no act.”
“And myopia is natural to you, Martin. Your prescription in this case has not been too successful, has it?”
“I can't help it if people will be d—-d fools.”
“There you hit it. But answer me this question: Isn't a social conscience, broadly speaking, the result of comfort and security?”
Martin shrugged his shoulders.
“And doesn't comfort also destroy the power of action?”
Again Martin shrugged.