point where his conjectures required formulation. It was only by
giving them expression, by exposing them to the comment and
criticism of his associates, that he could test their final value;
and this inner assurance was confirmed by the only friend whose
confidence he invited.

Professor Pease, the husband of the lady who had opened Mrs.
Linyard's eyes to the triumph of "The Vital Thing," was the
repository of her husband's scientific experiences. What he thought
of "The Vital Thing" had never been divulged; and he was capable of
such vast exclusions that it was quite possible that pervasive work
had not yet reached him. In any case, it was not likely to affect
his judgment of the author's professional capacity.

"You want to put that all in a book, Linyard," was Professor Pease's
summing-up. "I'm sure you've got hold of something big; but to see
it clearly yourself you ought to outline it for others. Take my
advice--chuck everything else and get to work tomorrow. It's time
you wrote a book, anyhow."

_ It's time you wrote a book, anyhow!_ The words smote the Professor
with mingled pain and ecstasy: he could have wept over their
significance. But his friend's other phrase reminded him with a
start of Harviss. "You have got hold of a big thing--" it had been
the publisher's first comment on "The Vital Thing." But what a world
of meaning lay between the two phrases! It was the world in which
the powers who fought for the Professor were destined to wage their
final battle; and for the moment he had no doubt of the outcome. The
next day he went to town to see Harviss. He wanted to ask for an
advance on the new popular edition of "The Vital Thing." He had