The mathematicians are the priests of the modern world.

Mr. Paggle lifted his own ale in the air. “What shall we toast to?”“Yarrow’s right hook?” Peer said.“Bray’s unladylike nerve?” Arlow suggested.“To new friends,” Yarrow said.“New friends,” they agreed. Their glasses clinked merrily.

Every man should stand under the blue and stars, under the infinite flag of nature, the peer of every other man.