Slowly the Poet’s angles adjusted themselves to the upright position, and he strode on beside his sister.
“So you really like the place, Galatea?”
“It’s lovely—just the spot to give you inspiration, George. I shall expect great things of you, dear.”
“Will it inspire me to reduce the rhythm of Anacreon to ragtime, do you think?”
“O George! And there are the Professor’s pets, you know—Mrs. Cowslip, Clarence, Reginald, Gustavius, and William. I told you about them. The Professor has the most wonderful knack of understanding domestic animals and making them understand him. Really, they look upon him as one of themselves. The Professor says we do our domestic animal pets great injustice when we overlook their loyalty and intelligence, refusing to meet them half-way in friendly companionship. Why, with only a little encouragement they develop the most remarkable emotions, almost human in their complexity; while their powers of expression develop correspondingly. Positively the Professor and his cow, and colt, and pig, and bull-calf,—William the goat, Napoleon the dog, and Cleopatra the mare were away the day I called to arrange about the lease for the summer,—are just one big happy family.”
Galatea’s cheeks were flushed with enthusiasm. The Poet’s eyes twinkled, but his face remained long and solemn.
“What name does the pig answer to?”
“Reginald; but he’s a nice, clean pig.”
“Yes, of course, being a member of the Professor’s family. By the way, did you have an opportunity to note Reginald’s table manners?”
“O George, how perfectly absurd!”