George kicked at the ground with his heel.
"Funny how unimportant it all seems here," he muttered.
It wasn't only the surroundings that made it seem unimportant; it was his remembrance of Sylvia who had known more than Wandel, more than anybody, yet had never opened the gate.
"You've taken all my conceit away," he went on. "Once it might have made me want to put myself out. Now I'm quite content to let Jerry do it."
Wandel's voice warmed, was less affected than George had ever heard it.
"What are you talking about? You've won a great victory. You should carry laurels on your brow. You've climbed to the top. You've defined for us all a possible socialism."
George smiled.
"A hell of a thing to talk about here! But tell that to Squibs, will you, little man, when you get back? We've had some rare battles over it."
Wandel hurried on.
"You've made yourself one of us, if it's any satisfaction. You're as good as the best of us—of the inheritors."