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thought instinctively of the littered floor of a nursery。
He was therefore the more moved； and even shocked； when his eye fell
on a large well…polished American revolver。
〃Hullo！〃 he cried； stepping back from the steely glitter as men step back
from a serpent； 〃are you afraid of burglars？ or when and why do you deal
death out of that machine gun？〃
〃Oh； that！〃 said Smith； throwing it a single glance； 〃I deal life
out of that；〃 and he went bounding down the stairs。
Chapter III
The Banner of Beacon
All next day at Beacon House there was a crazy sense that it was
everybody's birthday。 It is the fashion to talk of institutions
as cold and cramping things。 The truth is that when people are in
exceptionally high spirits； really wild with freedom and invention；
they always must； and they always do； create institutions。
When men are weary they fall into anarchy； but while they are gay
and vigorous they invariably make rules。 This； which is true of all
the churches and republics of history； is also true of the most
trivial parlour game or the most unsophisticated meadow romp。
We are never free until some institution frees us； and liberty
cannot exist till it is declared by authority。 Even the wild
authority of the harlequin Smith was still authority； because it
produced everywhere a crop of crazy regulations and conditions。
He filled every one with his own half…lunatic life； but it was not
expressed in destruction； but rather in a dizzy and toppling construction。
Each person with a hobby found it turning into an institution。
Rosamund's songs seemed to coalesce into a kind of opera；
Michael's jests and paragraphs into a magazine。 His pipe and her
mandoline seemed between them to make a sort of smoking concert。
The bashful and bewildered Arthur Inglewood almost struggled against his
own growing importance。 He felt as if； in spite of him； his photographs
were turning into a picture gallery； and his bicycle into a gymkhana。
But no one had any time to criticize these impromptu estates and offices；
for they followed each other in wild succession like the topics
of a rambling talker。
Existence with such a man was an obstacle race made out of
pleasant obstacles。 Out of any homely and trivial object he could
drag reels of exaggeration； like a conjurer。 Nothing could
be more shy and impersonal than poor Arthur's photography。
Yet the preposterous Smith was seen assisting him eagerly through
sunny morning hours； and an indefensible sequence described
as 〃Moral Photography〃 began to unroll about the boarding…house。
It was only a version of the old photographer's joke which
produces the same figure twice on one plate； making a man
play chess with himself； dine with himself； and so on。
But these plates were more hysterical and ambitiousas； 〃Miss Hunt
forgets Herself；〃 showing that lady answering her own too
rapturous recognition with a most appalling stare of ignorance；
or 〃Mr。 Moon questions Himself；〃 in which Mr。 Moon appeared as one
driven to madness under his own legal cross…examination； which was
conducted with a long forefinger and an air of ferocious waggery。
One highly successful trilogyrepresenting Inglewood recognizing
Inglewood； Inglewood prostrating himself before Inglewood；
and Inglewood severely beating Inglewood with a stick
Innocent Smith wanted to have enlarged and put up in the hall；
like a sort of fresco； with the inscription；
〃Self…reverence； self…knowledge； self…control
These three alone will make a man a prig。〃
Tennyson。
Nothing； again； could be more prosaic and impenetrable than
the domestic energies of Miss Diana Duke。 But Innocent had somehow
blundered on the discovery that her thrifty dressmaking went
with a considerable feminine care for dressthe one feminine thing
that had never failed her solitary self…respect。 In consequence Smith
pestered her with a theory （which he really seemed to take seriously）
that ladies might combine economy with magnificence if they would
draw light chalk patterns on a plain dress and then dust them
off again。 He set up 〃Smith's Lightning Dressmaking Company；〃
with two screens； a cardboard placard； and box of bright soft crayons；
and Miss Diana actually threw him an abandoned black overall
or working dress on which to exercise the talents of a modiste。
He promptly produced for her a garment aflame with red and gold sunflowers；
she held it up an instant to her shoulders； and looked like an empress。
And Arthur Inglewood； some hours afterwards cleaning his bicycle
（with his usual air of being inextricably hidden in it）； glanced up；
and his hot face grew hotter； for Diana stood laughing for one
flash in the doorway； and her dark robe was rich with the green
and purple of great decorative peacocks； like a secret garden
in the 〃Arabian Nights。〃 A pang too swift to be named pain
or pleasure went through his heart like an old…world rapier。
He remembered how pretty he thought her years ago； when he was
ready to fall in love with anybody； but it was like remembering
a worship of some Babylonian princess in some previous existence。
At his next glimpse of her （and he caught himself awaiting it）
the purple and green chalk was dusted off； and she went by quickly
in her working clothes。
As for Mrs。 Duke； none who knew that matron could conceive her as
actively resisting this invasion that had turned her house upside down。
But among the most exact observers it was seriously believed that she
liked it。 For she was one of those women who at bottom regard all
men as equally mad； wild animals of some utterly separate species。
And it is doubtful if she really saw anything more eccentric or
inexplicable in Smith's chimney…pot picnics or crimson sunflowers
than she had in the chemicals of Inglewood or the sardonic speeches
of Moon。 Courtesy； on the other hand； is a thing that anybody
can understand； and Smith's manners were as courteous as they
were unconventional。 She said he was 〃a real gentleman；〃 by which she
simply meant a kind…hearted man； which is a very different thing。
She would sit at the head of the table with fat； folded hands and a fat；
folded smile for hours and hours； while every one else was talking at once。
At least； the only other exception was Rosamund's companion；
Mary Gray； whose silence was of a much more eager sort。 Though she
never spoke she always looked as if she might speak any minute。
Perhaps this is the very definition of a companion。 Innocent Smith
seemed to throw himself； as into other adventures； into the adventure
of making her talk。 He never succeeded； yet he was never snubbed；
if he achieved anything； it was only to draw attention to this quiet figure；
and to turn her； by ever so little； from a modesty to a mystery。
But if she was a riddle； every one recognized that she was a fresh
and unspoilt riddle； like the riddle of the sky and the woods in spring。
Indeed； though she was rather older than the other two girls；
she had an early morning ardour； a fresh earnestness of youth；
which Rosamund seemed to have lost in the mere