She.—Kipling makes one see it all so vividly, where he says:
"'I shan't.' The voice rose in a wail, 'My God! I'm blind, and the darkness will never go away.' He made as if to leap from the bed, but Torpenhow's arms were around him, and Torpenhow's chin was on his shoulder, and his breath was squeezed out of him. He could only gasp, 'Blind!'"
He.—And again, the picture that Kipling draws of the blind man who suddenly finds himself unable to do that which he has been accustomed to do. I have the book with me:
"A wise man (who is blind) will keep his eyes on the floor and sit still. For amusement he may pick coal, lump by lump, out of a light scuttle, with the tongs, and pile it in a little heap by the fender, keeping count of the lumps, which must all be put back again, one by one, and very carefully. He may set himself sums if he cares to work them out; he may talk to himself, or to the cat if she chooses to visit him; and if his trade has been that of an artist he may sketch in the air with his forefinger: but that is too much like drawing a pig with his eyes shut. He may go to his bookshelves and count his books, ranging them in order of their size; or to his wardrobe and count out his shirts, laying them in piles of two or three on the bed, as they suffer from frayed cuffs or lost buttons. Even this entertainment wearies after a time; and all the times are very, very long."
I suppose that this portrayal is true to life.
She.—Undoubtedly, in a way; but I had a novel experience when traveling East this summer. While on the train, I saw a gentleman, who was trying to interest a little boy, who did not respond to his advances. I heard him ask the child whether he was a little boy, and how old he was. I saw then that the gentleman was blind, and thinking that he might prefer to talk with me, I introduced myself to him and found him a most delightful conversationalist. He told me that he had become blind very suddenly five years ago, but that his work had not been interrupted for a day since. His position as manager of a large corporation necessitated his frequent journeying in railroad trains, but he had continued to travel as before, sometimes with his secretary, and sometimes alone. He was alone when I met him. He was certainly delightfully cheerful and entertaining; and withal, he was fully informed on current topics of interest. It seemed almost impossible to realize that he was blind.
He.—His case is extraordinary; but, of course, he was not an artist, as was poor Dick, before the "light went out."
I have just discovered another reason why you are so very interesting. It is because you always have some novel experience to recount.
She.—Yes; but you know, we decided that people did not care, as a rule, to hear others talk.
He.—Well, I shall retract my decision. I have concluded that we usually like to hear others talk, if they have something interesting to tell.