A veritable wonder bird it seemed, a creature of light and fire with a bill three times the length of its body.
With skill in the arts there goes usually a certain gentleness, a generosity of spirit which shrinks from inflicting pain on others. But so closely was Mr. Caxton's skill linked to the cruelty in his nature that he always saw to it that it aroused in the beholder bitterness and despair.
Mr. Caxton did not ask Peter how he liked the drawing. Instead, he thrust it at him, twisting him about and forcing him to stare at it.
"A Martian bird would look like that," he said, with cold mockery in his stare. "Did the bird you claim to have seen look like that? Did it? Answer me!"
"No!" Susan cried.
"You keep out of it!" Mr. Caxton warned. "I'm waiting, Peter."
"No, it didn't," Peter said. "Pop wouldn't want me to say it did. He told me an explorer has to observe closely everything he sees."
"I thought so—you little liar!" Mr. Caxton's features hardened and his voice rang out accusingly. "You made the whole thing up."
It is doubtful if Mr. Caxton would have struck a child in spiteful rage. The grotesque melodrama of self-righteous deceit that went on inside of him would have been thrown out of joint by such a flagrant violation of adult mores. Besides, the danger of retribution from Peter's parents would have given him very serious and solemn pause.
What Mr. Caxton actually did was a far less grievous offense. He simply took the drawing and molded it carefully to Peter's face. Then, with a quick, abrupt shove, he sent Peter reeling backward.