Then, as Turnbull made no answer, his host continued:

"That is the really fine thing about space. It is topsy-turvy.
You have only to climb far enough towards the morning star to
feel that you are coming down to it. You have only to dive deep
enough into the abyss to feel that you are rising. That is the
only glory of this universe--it is a giddy universe."

Then, as Turnbull was still silent, he added:

"The heavens are full of revolution--of the real sort of
revolution. All the high things are sinking low and all the big
things looking small. All the people who think they are aspiring
find they are falling head foremost. And all the people who think
they are condescending find they are climbing up a precipice.
That is the intoxication of space. That is the only joy of
eternity--doubt. There is only one pleasure the angels can
possibly have in flying, and that is, that they do not know
whether they are on their head or their heels."

Then, finding his companion still mute, he fell himself into a
smiling and motionless meditation, at the end of which he said
suddenly:

"So MacIan converted you?"

Turnbull sprang up as if spurning the steel car from under his
feet. "Converted me!" he cried. "What the devil do you mean? I
have known him for a month, and I have not retracted a