“And I don’t think you put it fairly,” his friend contended.  “I never can tell when you are serious, but this is damned serious.  In business we have to deal with crooks, who hold us up right and left, and if we stood back you know as well as I do that everything would go to pot.  And if we let the reformers have their way the country would be bedlam.  We’d have anarchy and bloodshed, revolution, and the people would be calling us, the strong men, back in no time.  You can’t change human nature.  And we have a sense of responsibility—­we support law and order and the Church, and found institutions, and give millions away in charity.”

The big lawyer listened to this somewhat fervent defence of his order with an amused smile, nodding his head slightly from side to side.

“If you don’t believe in it,” demanded Mr. Plimpton, why the deuce don’t you drop it?”

“It’s because of my loyalty,” said Langmaid.  “I wouldn’t desert my pals.  I couldn’t bear, Wallis, to see you go to the guillotine without me.”

Mr. Plimpton became unpleasantly silent.

“Well, you may think it’s a joke,” he resumed, after a moment, “but there will be a guillotine if we don’t look out.  That confounded parson is getting ready to spring something, and I’m going to give Mr. Parr a tip.  He’ll know how to handle him.  He doesn’t talk much, but I’ve got an idea, from one or two things he let drop, that he’s a little suspicious of a change in Hodder.  But he ought to be waived.”

“You’re in no condition to talk to Mr. Parr, or to anyone else, except your wife, Walks,” Langmaid said.  “You’d better go home, and let me see Mr. Parr.  I’m responsible for Mr. Hodder, anyway.”

“All right,” Mr. Plimpton agreed, as though he had gained some shred of comfort from this thought.  “I guess you’re in worse than any of us.”