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Bowley. Then what is the converse of Truth?

Bones. My dear Pilate, it certainly is not falsehood. A crooked line is not the contradictory of a straight one. Curves and corners alike exclude the straight line and——

Bowley. No proposition can possibly have two logical contradictories.

Bones. There I pass.

Bowley. Keynes.

Bones. I should certainly have brought it in justifiable homicide had the remark been Abel's.

Bowley. Our old friendship——

Bones. All very well—you know I should never have made such a remark in real life and it's dam bad form to give it me in a dialogue where I can't help myself, but have to say exactly what you like.

Bowley. Oh, come! I've given you all the best speeches. The Lord hath given—look out!

Bones. I trust to your honour. Where were we? Anyway, I tell you this: it's a ripping good formula as such.

Bowley. Now we come down to the Black Magician and his circle again; all right, I am with you. I can never help suspecting you of morality, though; you're a devilish deep Johnny, but the atavism comes through. As long as you wear a tie that the Neanderthal cave man would have discarded as out of date I can never quite class you with this century.

Bones. Before Abraham was, I am.

Bowley. [Taking no notice.] I call it a Christian tie. Faith in your wife's affection surviving it; charity, which is not ashamed; hope—no, only Hope Brothers.

Bones. This is in some ways a digression——

Bowley. I can prove——

Bones. I know you can. Don't.

Bowley. Well, about truth. Surely I am right in saying that "I don't know" and keeping silence—both subjective formulas—are equal