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 Jaz shook his head.

"It's not goodness they're after just now," he said. "They want to rip things up, or they want nothing. They aren't ready to come under Kangaroo's loving wing just yet. They'd as leave be under King George's thumb, they can peep out easier. It seems to me, it's spite that's at the bottom, with most men. And they've got to let it out before anything's any good."

Somers began to feel tired now.

"But after all, Jaz," he said, "what have I got to do with it?"

"You can put it to Kangaroo. You can make him see it. And you can keep him to it, if you promise him you'll stick to him."

"Me a power behind the throne?" protested the truly sceptical Richard.

"I take it you don't want to sit on the throne yourself," smiled Jaz. "And Kangaroo's got more the figure. But what do you think of it?"

Somers was silent. He now was smiling subtly and ironically, and Jaz was watching him sharply, like a man who wants something. Jaz waited.

"I'm afraid, Jaz," said Somers, "that, like Nietzsche, I no longer believe in great events. The war was a great event—and it made everything more pretty. I doubt if I care about the mass of mankind, Jaz. You make them more than ever distasteful to me."

"Oh, you know, you needn't commit yourself. You've only to be friendly with Kangaroo, and work him into it. You know you said yourself you'd give anything to have a clearance made, in the world."

"I know. Sometimes I feel I'd give anything, soul and body, for a smash up in this social-industrial world we're in. And I would. And then when I realise people—just people—the same people after it as before—why, Jaz, then I don't care any more, and feel it's time to turn to the gods."

"You feel there's any gods to turn to, do you?" asked Jaz, with the sarcasm of disappointment.

"I feel it would probably be like Messina before and after the earthquake. Before the earthquake it was what is called a fine town, but commercial, low, and hateful.