The person who produced the most outre sentiment was called 'strong.'
The women especially liked no writing that was not 'strong.' The
strongest man in the company, and adored by the women, was the
poet-artist Courci Cleves, who always seems to have walked straight out
of a fashion-plate, much deferred to in this set, which affects to defer
to nothing, and a thing of beauty in the theatre lobbies. Mr. Cleves
gained much applause for his well-considered wish that all that has been
written in the world, all books and libraries, could be destroyed, so as
to give a chance to the new men and the fresh ideas of the new era."

"My dear sir," said Brad, who did not like this caricature of his
friends, "you don't make any allowance for the eccentricities of genius."

"You would hit it nearer if you said I didn't make allowance for the
eccentricities without genius," retorted Philip.

"Well," replied Mr. Brad, taking his leave, "you don't understand your
world. You go your own way and see where you will come out."

And when Philip reflected on it, he wondered if it were not rash to
offend those who had the public ear, and did up the personals and minor
criticisms for the current prints. He was evidently out of view. No
magazine paper of his had gained the slightest notice from these
sublimated beings, who discovered a new genius every month.

A few nights after this conversation Mr. Brad was in uncommon spirits at
dinner.

"Anything special turned up?" asked Philip.