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Even as she spoke she knew that Simec had resumed his seat, although he had made no sound and her eyes were upon her husband. She was thus not surprised to hear his voice. "I gather, then," he said, as though picking up a conversational thread, "that there are two of you who would be willing to make the gift of sacrifice Colcord and Bates."

"I was saying," explained Doctor Allison, "that we do well if we send our young men to battle in the spirit of privileged sacrifice, as as something that is our our yes our proud privilege, as I say, to do." Simec shook his head in thoughtful negation. "That is sentiment, excellent sentiment; unfortunately, it doesn't stand assay. Reaction comes.

"Here Nick says he'd give up his life if the war could be stopped and you bob up and tell him to make good, throwing sort of a Faust effect over the whole dinner. All right for Nick and Arnold Bates but how about you, Simec? How will you stop the war if they shuffle off? I'll bite once on anything; how will you do it?" There was a general movement of the diners.

"I'm afraid, Simec," said Colcord crisply, "that we're getting a bit unpopular. We'd better drop the subject. It was rather a cheap play, I'll admit, stacking myself up as a martyr in a wholly impossible situation. You called me and Bates there rather cleverly.... The drinks are on us.... At the same time I meant what I said, even if it was far-fetched; I mean I was sincere."

Simec threw out his arm in a long, bony gesture. "I am perfectly convinced of that. That is why I am going to ask you to make your offer good." Had it come from any one else there would have been derisive laughter. But Simec, a man to whom had been credited so much of mystery and achievement, was speaking.

"Doctor Allison," he was saying, "has missed the distinction between hostia honoraria and hostia piacularis. In the former case the deity accepts the gift of a life; in the latter he demands it." "What in the world are you all talking about now?" asked Evelyn plaintively. "Not war ?" "Sacrifice, Mrs. Colcord." Simec inclined his head slightly in her direction.

Latham grimaced and was raising a deprecating hand when she caught it impulsively. "Please let's talk about something else." "Very well." He smiled mockingly and lowered his voice. "Your friend at your right there curious beggar, don't you think?" Evelyn glanced at Simec, turning again to Latham. "He gives me the creeps," she confessed. "It seems absurd, but he does." "Really!"

"Otherwise," remarked Latham, "it would be as fatal to the side using it as to the army against whom it was directed." "Precisely." Simec lifted his wine-glass and sipped slowly. "For a time," he went on, "this drawback seemed insuperable, just as it has been in wireless telegraphy. Within the past week, however, I am convinced that a solution of that difficulty has been reached.

Simec was a laboratory recluse who had found his métier in the war. Rumor credited to him at least one of the deadliest chemical combinations employed by the allied armies. But it was merely rumor; nothing definite was known. These are things of which little is hinted and less said.

"I don't fancy any one could doubt that," he said. "No, indeed. Certainly not." Allison gestured in playful salute. "Let me congratulate you upon a fine flight of imagination, Professor Simec." "Thank you but it isn't imagination, Doctor Allison." The man's voice had again become flat and unemotional, with the effect of withdrawal of personality.