When he saw Johannes, he greeted him with a nod and a wink, as if there were a secret understanding between them.
"Superb! Is it not? Superb!"
Johannes did not exactly know what he meant—the verses he had received, the mountains opposite, or the fine, September morning. He selected the most obvious, and said:
"Yes, sir! Glorious weather!"
Van Lieverlee gave him a keen look, as if uncertain whether or not he was being made sport of, and then leisurely remarked:
"You do not appear to be impressed by the combination of white, mauve, and golden brown."
Johannes thought himself very sensitive to the effect of color; so he felt ashamed of not having noticed the color-composition. He saw it now, fully—the white flannel, the purple pocket-handkerchief, and the faded, yellow-brown shrub. That Van Lieverlee should thus include himself in this symphony of color seemed to him in the highest degree pertinent.
"I was engaged in making a 'pantoem' in harmony with that color-scheme," said Van Lieverlee; and then, seeing the blank look on Johannes' face, he added, "Do you know what a 'pantoem' is?"
"I do not, sir."
"Oh, boy! boy! and you call yourself a poet! What did you receive this morning? Do you know what that is?"