hispapercrossedhisfeetandextractedhisglasses.Thewholefleshofhisfacethenfellintofoldsasifpropswereremoved.YetstripawholeseatofanundergroundrailwaycarriageofitsheadsandoldHuxtable'sheadwillholdthemall.Now,ashiseyegoesdowntheprint,whataprocessiontrampsthroughthecorridorsofhisbrain,orderly,quick-stepping,andreinforced,asthemarchgoeson,byfreshrunnels,tillthewholehall,dome,whateveronecallsit,ispopulouswithideas.Suchamustertakesplaceinnootherbrain.Yetsometimestherehe'llsitforhourstogether,grippingthearmofthechair,likeamanholdingfastbecausestranded,andthen,justbecausehiscorntwinges,oritmaybethegout,whatexecrations,and,dearme,tohearhimtalkofmoney,takingouthisleatherpurseandgrudgingeventhesmallestsilvercoin,secretiveandsuspiciousasanoldpeasantwomanwithallherlies.Strangeparalysisandconstriction—marvellousillumination.Sereneoveritallridesthegreatfullbrow,andsometimesasleeporinthequietspacesofthenightyoumightfancythatonapillowofstonehelaytriumphant.
Sopwith,meanwhile,advancingwithacurioustripfromthefire-place,cutthechocolatecakeintosegments.Untilmidnightorlatertherewouldbeundergraduatesinhisroom,sometimesasmanyastwelve,sometimesthreeorfourbutnobodygotupwhentheywentorwhentheycameSopwithwentontalking.Talking,talking,talking—asifeverythingcouldbetalked—thesoulitselfslippedthroughthelipsinthinsilverdiskswhichdissolveinyoungmen'smindslikesilver,likemoonlight.Oh,farawaythey'drememberit,anddeepindulnessgazebackonit,andcometorefreshthemselvesagain.
"Well,Inever.That'soldChucky.Mydearboy,how'stheworldtreatingyou?"AndincamepoorlittleChucky,theunsuccessfulprovincial,Stenhousehisrealname,butofcourseSopwithbroughtbackbyusingtheothereverything,everything,"allIcouldneverbe"—yes,thoughnextday,buyinghisnewspaperandcatchingtheearlytrain,itallseemedtohimchildish,absurdthechocolatecake,theyoungmenSopwithsummingthingsupno,notallhewouldsendhissonthere.Hewouldsaveeverypennytosendhissonthere.
Sopwithwentontalkingtwiningstifffibresofawkwardspeech—thingsyoungmenblurtedout—plaitingthemroundhisownsmoothgarland,makingthebrightsideshow,thevividgreens,thesharpthorns,manliness.Helovedit.IndeedtoSopwithamancouldsayanything,untilperhapshe'dgrownold,orgoneunder,gonedeep,whenthesilverdiskswouldtinklehollow,andtheinscriptionreadalittletoosimple,andtheoldstamplooktoopure,andtheimpressalwaysthesame—aGreekboy'shead.Buthewouldrespectstill.Awoman,diviningthepriest,would,involuntarily,despise.
Cowan,ErasmusCowan,sippedhisportalone,orwithonerosylittleman,whosememoryheldpreciselythesamespanoftimesippedhisport,andtoldhisstories,andwithoutbookbeforehimintonedLatin,VirgilandCatullus,asiflanguagewerewineuponhislips.Only—sometimesitwillcomeoverone—whatifthepoetstrodein?"THISmyimage?"hemightask,pointingtothechubbyman,whosebrainis,afterall,Virgil'srepresentativeamo