“You should feel the satisfaction of doing a thing right.”
“The reward doesn’t tempt me, sir. Given that the answer to a most intricate problem proves to be .03885—what has been achieved beyond a row of figures? In after years none will look back and say, ‘He was the man who found this answer,’ for the reason that there is no charm or beauty in his findings. To the eye of the onlooker, sir, .04996 would be none the less pleasing.”
“But it would be wrong,” urged the Head.
“Nero was wrong in setting fire to Rome, yet people still speak of that.”
“They speak in horror, Rendall.”
“And a certain amount of admiration, sir. He was artist enough to play upon a harp while the roof beams crackled and fell.”
“I am afraid your instance suggests a certain laxity of moral outlook, Rendall, which one can only deplore.”
Wynne looked up at the ceiling and smiled.
“He created a stir, sir—that is what I am getting at. Good may have resulted too. Possibly a deal of pestilence was scorched out of the city in that mighty fire.”
The Head eyed him seriously.