Both of them turned their eyes toward the Governor to gain his opinion.
“You bear a charmed life, little frog,” said he, “so I don’t see what harm or inconvenience can happen to you. In fact, I think the outing would be a pleasant trip for you, and add something to your store of knowledge.”
“You don’t think,” said Rosalie anxiously, for second thoughts were beginning to intrude themselves, “that any harm could come of it. I remember Mr. Barringcourt saying something about vivisection once. It would be terrible if anything happened, and I was powerless to prevent it.”
“I don’t think anything could happen,” replied the Governor. “A frog that has once jumped from Lucifram successfully to heaven could, on a pinch, repeat the process with much less inconvenience.”
And soon after this the interview and evening ended.
CHAPTER XXI
A MAN WHO STOOD ON HIS HEAD, ACCORDING TO LUCIFRAM
The two wanderers were standing once more in the cold, inhospitable streets of Lucifram. But they were not alone. A tall lady descending from her carriage had noticed the forlorn Rosalie, and pitying her tired condition had taken her within her house, promising her one night’s shelter at least. It may be simply stated to whom Rosalie in this hour of need had come. In this particular house in Lime Tree Square of the chief city of Lucifram there lived a very great painter and his sister. In his early youth he had had a hard struggle, not so much because he was poor, but because he was original. Now, for a man to have his own ideas in the city of Lucifram was to set all the dogs barking, the mob stone-flinging, and the Riot Act fluttering.
It was very strange, but thousands of years of experience had taught little or nothing.
The painter, as has been said, had his own ideas, and so at first they said he was an upstart, and very justly laughed at him. But laughter never yet cured madness or stamped out the truth, and as the painter seemed to be giving surreptitious invisible spiritual bites all round him, and setting the infection flying, it was recognised at last there must be some truth in his madness, and to a certain extent they let him be.
And so from being badly abused the painter at last sprung into fame. He was a shy and reserved man, and somewhat irritable in his temper. But that was because his temperament and his work were of a kind that wear the nerves unevenly. But still when he liked he could be very charming, even Lucifram admitted that, and for the hidden virtues, they left those with a shrug to God the Serpent.