“Knew she’d win,” Walter nodded proudly. “She’s beat all the men ’round here. That’s what scares ’em off. She always asks ’em to go swimmin’, an’ ’en she makes ’em look sick.... Can’t blame the fellows for scarin’ off.”
That was a long speech from Walter. Richard rested and reflected on it. This boy was no hopeless case. It was just a question of letting him lead a natural healthy life, he thought. But Geraldine, full of her victory, rejoiced that she had humbled the big man into silence. Was he wrinkling his face on account of the sun, or was it sullenness?
“You wanted to win,” he answered her thought quietly.
“Naturally. A woman likes to beat a man, occasionally. That’s the latest female sport.”
“Why should anyone want to win?” he asked.
“Pooh! Philosophy!” She would not let him take her victory up into the empyrean where it would disappear into insignificance. That was the way of these clever argumentative chaps. After they slap you in the face, they cry loftily, “Think of all the millions of years that are gone and are to come, and what matters a little slap!” The answer is to slap back, a little harder—twice, if you can get it in—and echo, “Aye! Mere dust on the wing of eternity!” He had tried to overhaul her; she knew he had tried; he gave up because she was the better swimmer. “Pooh! Philosophy!” she ejaculated. “Let’s be practical for once.”
“Philosophy is always practical; philosophy is simply trying to think straight, even against our best wishes. It is disinterested and terribly curious. So when I ask, ‘Why should anyone want to win?’ I am disinterested and tremendously curious. Do you really know?”
In her own case she knew exactly. The calmness of this man had begun to irritate; he was so sure of himself; he could not be disturbed. She wished to humble him, to drag him out of his secure serenity. Few men can stand a beating from a woman. She hoped to punish him a little by winning. All this she knew, but she said:
“Instinct, I suppose. I never inquire about instinct. Might as well ask why we eat; the answer is, because we’re hungry. Why are we hungry? Because we need food. Why do we need food? Instinct!”
“A philosopher come to judgment!” he laughed. “You reason exactly like a philosopher. The average man does not bring up at that answer; he says, ‘I am hungry because I am a wonderful creature, the exceptional thing in the universe—I have an appetite!’ Haven’t you noticed the pride people take in their appetites? When philosophy tells you it is a common instinct over which we have no control, it is very helpful and very practical. It saves us from a deal of comic pride.”