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He produced two or three boxes of cigars； and explained
with plain and perplexing sincerity that he was no smoker；
but that cigar…box wood was by far the best for fretwork。
He also exhibited about six small bottles of wine； white and red；
and Inglewood； happening to note a Volnay which he knew to be excellent；
supposed at first that the stranger was an epicure in vintages。
He was therefore surprised to find that the next bottle was a vile sham
claret from the colonies； which even colonials （to do them justice）
do not drink。 It was only then that he observed that all six
bottles had those bright metallic seals of various tints；
and seemed to have been chosen solely because they have the three
primary and three secondary colours： red； blue； and yellow；
green； violet and orange。 There grew upon Inglewood an almost
creepy sense of the real childishness of this creature。
For Smith was really； so far as human psychology can be； innocent。
He had the sensualities of innocence： he loved the stickiness of gum；
and he cut white wood greedily as if he were cutting a cake。
To this man wine was not a doubtful thing to be defended or denounced；
it was a quaintly coloured syrup； such as a child sees in a shop window。
He talked dominantly and rushed the social situation；
but he was not asserting himself； like a superman in a modern play。
He was simply forgetting himself； like a little boy at a party。
He had somehow made the giant stride from babyhood to manhood；
and missed that crisis in youth when most of us grow old。
As he shunted his big bag； Arthur observed the initials
I。 S。 printed on one side of it； and remembered that Smith had
been called Innocent Smith at school； though whether as a formal
Christian name or a moral description he could not remember。
He was just about to venture another question； when there was a knock
at the door； and the short figure of Mr。 Gould offered itself；
with the melancholy Moon； standing like his tall crooked shadow；
behind him。 They had drifted up the stairs after the other two
men with the wandering gregariousness of the male。
〃Hope there's no intrusion；〃 said the beaming Moses with a glow
of good nature； but not the airiest tinge of apology。
〃The truth is；〃 said Michael Moon with comparative courtesy；
〃we thought we might see if they had made you comfortable。
Miss Duke is rather〃
〃I know；〃 cried the stranger； looking up radiantly from his bag；
〃magnificent； isn't she？ Go close to herhear military music going by；
like Joan of Arc。〃
Inglewood stared and stared at the speaker like one who has
just heard a wild fairy tale； which nevertheless contains
one small and forgotten fact。 For he remembered how he had
himself thought of Jeanne d'Arc years ago； when； hardly more
than a schoolboy； he had first come to the boarding…house。 Long
since the pulverizing rationalism of his friend Dr。 Warner had
crushed such youthful ignorances and disproportionate dreams。
Under the Warnerian scepticism and science of hopeless
human types； Inglewood had long come to regard himself as
a timid； insufficient； and 〃weak〃 type； who would never marry；
to regard Diana Duke as a materialistic maidservant；
and to regard his first fancy for her as the small；
dull farce of a collegian kissing his landlady's daughter。
And yet the phrase about military music moved him queerly；
as if he had heard those distant drums。
〃She has to keep things pretty tight； as is only natural；〃 said Moon；
glancing round the rather dwarfish room； with its wedge of slanted ceiling；
like the conical hood of a dwarf。
〃Rather a small box for you； sir；〃 said the waggish Mr。 Gould。
〃Splendid room； though；〃 answered Mr。 Smith enthusiastically； with his
head inside his Gladstone bag。 〃I love these pointed sorts of rooms；
like Gothic。 By the way；〃 he cried out； pointing in quite a startling way；
〃where does that door lead to？〃
〃To certain death； I should say；〃 answered Michael Moon； staring up at
a dust…stained and disused trapdoor in the sloping roof of the attic。
〃I don't think there's a loft there； and I don't know what else it could
lead to。〃 Long before he had finished his sentence the man at the door
in the ceiling； swung himself somehow on to the ledge beneath it；
wrenched it open after a struggle； and clambered through it。
For a moment they saw the two symbolic legs standing like a truncated statue；
then they vanished。 Through the hole thus burst in the roof appeared
the empty and lucid sky of evening； with one great many…coloured cloud
sailing across it like a whole county upside down。
〃Hullo； you fellows！〃 came the far cry of Innocent Smith；
apparently from some remote pinnacle。 〃Come up here；
and bring some of my things to eat and drink。 It's just the spot
for a picnic。〃
With a sudden impulse Michael snatched two of the small
bottles of wine； one in each solid fist； and Arthur Inglewood；
as if mesmerized； groped for a biscuit tin and a big jar of ginger。
The enormous hand of Innocent Smith appearing through the aperture；
like a giant's in a fairy tale； received these tributes and bore them
off to the eyrie； then they both hoisted themselves out of the window。
They were both athletic； and even gymnastic； Inglewood through his
concern for hygiene； and Moon through his concern for sport； which was
not quite so idle and inactive as that of the average sportsman。
Also they both had a light…headed burst of celestial sensation when
the door was burst in the roof； as if a door had been burst in the sky；
and they could climb out on to the very roof of the universe。
They were both men who had long been unconsciously imprisoned in
the commonplace； though one took it comically； and the other seriously。
They were both men； nevertheless； in whom sentiment had never died。
But Mr。 Moses Gould had an equal contempt for their suicidal athletics
and their subconscious transcendentalism； and he stood and laughed
at the thing with the shameless rationality of another race。
When the singular Smith； astride of a chimney…pot； learnt that Gould
was not following； his infantile officiousness and good nature
forced him to dive back into the attic to comfort or persuade；
and Inglewood and Moon were left alone on the long gray…green
ridge of the slate roof； with their feet against gutters and their
backs against chimney…pots； looking agnostically at each other。
Their first feeling was that they had come out into eternity；
and that eternity was very like topsy…turvydom。 One definition
occurred to both of themthat he had come out into the light
of that lucid and radiant ignorance in which all beliefs had begun。
The sky above them was full of mythology。 Heaven seemed deep
enough to hold all the gods。 The round of the ether turned
from green to yellow gradually like a great unripe fruit。
All around the sunken sun it was like a lemon； round all the east
it was a sort of golden green； more suggestive of a greengage；
but the whole had still he emptiness of daylight and none of the secrecy
of dusk。 Tumbled here and there across this gold and pale green
were shards and shattered masses of inky purple cloud； which seemed
falling towards the earth in e