"I can only reaffirm my position," Dr. Hammerfield retorted tartly. "It
is too long a story to enter into now."

"No story is too long for the scientist," Ernest said sweetly. "That is
why the scientist gets to places. That is why he got to America."

I shall not describe the whole evening, though it is a joy to me to
recall every moment, every detail, of those first hours of my coming to
know Ernest Everhard.

Battle royal raged, and the ministers grew red-faced and excited,
especially at the moments when Ernest called them romantic philosophers,
shadow-projectors, and similar things. And always he checked them back
to facts. "The fact, man, the irrefragable fact!" he would proclaim
triumphantly, when he had brought one of them a cropper. He bristled
with facts. He tripped them up with facts, ambuscaded them with facts,
bombarded them with broadsides of facts.

"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