“It was all you really needed, wasn’t it? As long as you had me—or somebody like me—sitting at your feet, things were dandy. That way you could pretend you were something special—you could pretend you really were Max Blake, Genius First Class. Sure. I’ve heard that actors sometimes fall into the parts they happen to be playing. Why not? Acting, writing, painting—they all come from incipient schizophrenia, don’t they? By God, you know, the more I think about it, the more I’m sure you did believe in the legend—just as strongly as I did! And that’s probably why you were so convincing.”

“I will not listen to this!” Blake exclaimed furiously.

“It was a perfect setup, I’ll say that,” Adam went on. “It justified the life you were leading, and filled in almost all of the holes. With your little band of idolators, you never had to think much about the truth—which was that you were a two-bit professor without the creative talent to do, or the guts to undo, anything worth while. Or, like Pres said, a phony.”

Max Blake tensed, then suddenly relaxed. His face remained pale. He seemed to be drained of emotion. Seated on the bed, he looked very small, and very weak, to Adam.

“Of course, down-deep you knew that it was all in fun. When a man professes to believe in nothing, as you did, he’s considered either a fool or a genius. You were obviously not a fool. So it wasn’t too difficult persuading people you were a genius. But you never dreamed anyone would take you seriously—actually think of putting your lack of principles into practice! Good God, everyone knows that this is just talk! Everyone knows that the really important things are money and jobs and the rent paid up and three good suits and insurance—

“So you were troubled when I took off. You were shocked and worried at my letters, although you probably didn’t believe them. Then you realized that it was true. Somebody had taken your routine seriously and was actually carrying it out! Worst of all, this somebody was going around mentioning your name. The newspapers were picking up on it.

“It would never do. You knew you’d have to leave your ivory outhouse and stop this crazy hooligan before he got you into trouble with the faculty.

“The problem was—how to swing it? After all, the disciple was only doing what the Master had told him to do.

“But it wasn’t really a problem. It was a choice. In order to keep the illusion of the Great Amoralist, you’d have to stay home and applaud; any other course would screw it up. So it came to a question of values. Who was more important to you—Blake the god or Blake the man? Because one of them had to go.