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I was waiting for you,” said Gregory. “Might I have a moment’s conversation?””Certainly. About what?” asked Syme in a sort of weak wonder.Gregory struck out with his stick at the lamp-post, and then at the tree. “About this and this,” he cried; “about order and anarchy. There is your precious order, that lean, iron lamp, ugly and barren; and there is anarchy, rich, living, reproducing itself–there is anarchy, splendid in green and gold.””All the same,” replied Syme patiently, “just at present you only see the tree by the light of the lamp. I wonder when you would ever see the lamp by the light of the tree.
