Leopold laughed pleasantly.
“I shock your good old Puritan soul, I see. Nothing shocks me. God made all, and there is no high nor low—that’s my simple creed. And don’t forget that in biology man is not different from the rest of creation; we are only vertebrata, my good friend, subject all to the same law of life; biology knows no Chosen Species. Good night, old Allen.... I am sorry we did not have this talk earlier. I am not strong for self-sacrifice, but, really, I believe, if I had known, I—well, I would not have let things go so far.”
Blynn looked hard at him, in his eyes the fire of a zealot.
“Things have—have—gone far; have they?”
“Quite,” said Leopold. “Quite far.”
After that night Blynn withdrew abruptly from the daily councils at “Top-o’-the-Hill.” The preparation of the lectures seemed to be taking all his time. He dropped in on the group once or twice for a moment’s chat, and to see the progress, but his mind seemed ever hard at work, selecting and rejecting material. That series must be a great go, he explained; he would put his best into it, and give them the worth of their money. In two weeks he was off to Rochester.
XXVII
TZOO-OOM!
WHEN Allen left for his lecture tour, Gorgas immediately knocked off work and gave herself up to gloomy thoughts. She began to discover what a lonely child she had always been; she who had had parents, but no real mother and father; and now mon capitaine (mon duc, mon prince!) was busy with his own affairs. Bardek, too, had been in the depths—it was Leopold’s doleful song that had set him off. “One should not sing of ‘For-r-ty year-r on,’” he growled, “not when one is for-r-ty year-r on!” The “smitty” was therefore deserted. And Leopold had been absolutely debarred from the Leverings; Gorgas would send for him when she wanted him.
There comes a night when lights go up in Bardek’s “white-wash house.” Gorgas is gloomily swinging in a hammock in the orchard. She listens to the clatter and to the singing, and knows that Bardek has recovered his spirits. Are they dancing? She can hear the thump of the children’s heavy shoes, and she can see forms flash back and forth between the light and the window. Bardek’s voice is roaring; and an occasional squeal from the inexpressive little wife is a certain sign of good times.
Hey ho! She, too, could be happy if she chose. Off there in the dark, Leopold was waiting; waiting with fearful, confident patience, she thought and shuddered. If she chose—but she could not will to choose. Not yet, at any rate; she would wait a while.