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 "Well then—well then—the religious question is ticklish, especially here in Australia. But all the churches are established on Christ. And Christ says Love one another."

Richard laughed suddenly.

"That makes Christ into another political agent," he said.

"Well then—I'm not deep enough for these matters. But surely you know how to square it with religion. Seems to me it is religion—love one another."

"Without a God."

"Well—as I say—it's Christ's teaching, and that ought to be God enough."

Richard was silent, his heart heavy. It all seemed so far from the dark God he wished to serve, the God from whom the dark, sensual passion of love emanates, not only the spiritual love of Christ. He wanted men once more to refer the sensual passion of love sacredly to the great dark God, the ithyphallic, of the first dark religions. And how could that be done, when each dry little individual ego was just mechanically set against any such dark flow, such ancient submission. As for instance Willie Struthers at this minute, Struthers didn't mind Christ. Christ could easily be made to subserve his egoistic purpose. But the first, dark, ithyphallic God whom men had once known so tremendous—Struthers had no use for Him.

"I don't think I can do it. I don't think I've the right touch," said Richard slowly.

"Nay, Mr Somers, don't you be a funker, now. This is the work you were born for. Don't leave us in the lurch."

"I shouldn't be doing what you want me to do."

"Do what seems best to yourself. We'll risk it. Make your own conditions. I know as far as money goes you won't be hard. But take the job on, now. It's been waiting for you, waiting for you to come out here. Don't funk at the last minute."

"I won't promise at this minute," said Richard, rising to escape. "I want to go now. I will tell you within a week. You might send me details of your scheme for the paper. Will you? And I'll think about it hard."

Mr Struthers watched him as if he would read his soul. But Richard wasn't going to have his soul read by force.