“You seem to worship at the shrine of fact,” Dr. Hammerfield taunted him.

“There is no God but Fact, and Mr. Everhard is its prophet,” Dr. Ballingford paraphrased.

Ernest smilingly acquiesced.

“I’m like the man from Texas,” he said.  And, on being solicited, he explained.  “You see, the man from Missouri always says, ’You’ve got to show me.’  But the man from Texas says, ’You’ve got to put it in my hand.’  From which it is apparent that he is no metaphysician.”

Another time, when Ernest had just said that the metaphysical philosophers could never stand the test of truth, Dr. Hammerfield suddenly demanded: 

“What is the test of truth, young man?  Will you kindly explain what has so long puzzled wiser heads than yours?”

“Certainly,” Ernest answered.  His cocksureness irritated them.  “The wise heads have puzzled so sorely over truth because they went up into the air after it.  Had they remained on the solid earth, they would have found it easily enough—­ay, they would have found that they themselves were precisely testing truth with every practical act and thought of their lives.”

“The test, the test,” Dr. Hammerfield repeated impatiently.  “Never mind the preamble.  Give us that which we have sought so long—­the test of truth.  Give it us, and we will be as gods.”

There was an impolite and sneering scepticism in his words and manner that secretly pleased most of them at the table, though it seemed to bother Bishop Morehouse.

“Dr. Jordan* has stated it very clearly,” Ernest said.  “His test of truth is:  ‘Will it work?  Will you trust your life to it?’”

* A noted educator of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries of the Christian Era.  He was president of the Stanford University, a private benefaction of the times.

“Pish!” Dr. Hammerfield sneered.  “You have not taken Bishop Berkeley* into account.  He has never been answered.”

* An idealistic monist who long puzzled the philosophers of that time with his denial of the existence of matter, but whose clever argument was finally demolished when the new empiric facts of science were philosophically generalized.

“The noblest metaphysician of them all,” Ernest laughed.  “But your example is unfortunate.  As Berkeley himself attested, his metaphysics didn’t work.”

Dr. Hammerfield was angry, righteously angry.  It was as though he had caught Ernest in a theft or a lie.

“Young man,” he trumpeted, “that statement is on a par with all you have uttered to-night.  It is a base and unwarranted assumption.”

“I am quite crushed,” Ernest murmured meekly.  “Only I don’t know what hit me.  You’ll have to put it in my hand, Doctor.”

“I will, I will,” Dr. Hammerfield spluttered.  “How do you know?  You do not know that Bishop Berkeley attested that his metaphysics did not work.  You have no proof.  Young man, they have always worked.”