Mr. Homer paused, much moved. Mr. Pindar waved his cloak in protest, but his countenance brightened perceptibly.
"Not so!" he murmured. "Not so! Thunder. Exit Homeless Wanderer, pursued by furies. Brother, I will return to my hated task. Enough! I thank you, but I go."
"Brother, I implore you not so to do!" cried Mr. Homer, earnestly. "I believe that other and happier things are in store for you. I have a vision, sir, of a home replete with elegant comfort. Miss Bethia, though not opulent, is possessed of a comfortable competence—though Mammon is far from my thoughts!" cried Mr. Homer, blushing again. "A home, I say, sir, brightened by the society of—of Woman, and by every evidence of a refined and cultivated taste. My dear brother, return with me now to the—the bower, if I may so express myself, of our esteemed and valued friend. Miss Bethia urged, I may say, implored, me to bring you back."
"Not so!" murmured Mr. Pindar. "Alarums and excursions. Exit—"
But Mr. Homer interrupted him, a sudden fire shining in his mild eyes. "Brother Pindar," he cried, "you have many times alluded, since your return, to the Dramatic Moment; you have commented upon the absence of the dramatic element in my composition. But, sir, it is borne in upon me strongly at this instant that a Dramatic Moment is now striking in—in your life and that of our esteemed and valued friend. As you yourself would observe, hark to it, sir! it strikes;—a—resounds;—a—larums, sir, larums."
The two brothers had risen, and stood facing each other in the moonlight. They waved their arms with an identical gesture; never had they looked so alike. "It larums!" repeated Mr. Pindar, solemnly. Suddenly he seized his brother's hand, and motioned him forward.
"Flourish and a sennet!" he cried. "Possible joy-bells! Brother, set on!"