“Not that I can come anywhere near Rainforth generally,” he said. “He’s a genius. Yes, he’s the only genius I have ever known. I am simply a pigmy by the side of him. But just here I know he is wrong, and I intend to prove it. If I succeed, nobody will congratulate me so heartily as he.”
As to me, he had talked of Janet and the book, to her he talked of the book and Rainforth. They had been like David and Jonathan in college and ever since. In argument they had fought many a glorious field. Now Rainforth was winning honour in the West, and the Lad was watching every step of his career with intense pride.
“You ought to see him,” cried the Lad. “He fairly towers above all the people near him.”
There was a touch of novelty in the situation. That a hero-worshipper should invite his hero to step down from the pedestal and do battle with him seemed a dangerous proceeding. Yet I knew that if the hero came out second-best, the worship would be no whit abated.
I fancied that Janet grew weary of hearing so much of Rainforth, but I was not sure. She spoke less and less often of the Lad. In place of the specific frankness with which he talked of her, she generalized; and because her “humorous melancholy” was so little appreciated by him, she spent it all on me.
She was talking one day of the elusiveness of life. We were always seeming to catch a meaning in it, she said, first in one place, then in another. In will-o’-the-wisp fashion it danced through religion, through philosophy, through aspiration of every kind. We went from illusion to illusion, from dream to dream. The gods (thus Janet named the hostile powers whom she sometimes imagined behind the scenes), in order to amuse themselves, had made this world as a great playground, where their creatures, cobweb-blinded, played an endless game of blindman’s buff. The last and most cruel illusion of all was love.
It was then that I knew that she had begun to care for the Lad.
In the early winter my work developed so as to demand all my time. In consequence of the business depression, the suffering in the city had increased tenfold. My experiences of the daytime haunted me at night. In my dreams I climbed the dark stairways of the poor, and door after door opened in my sleep upon scenes of misery that I could not help.
I had no time now to talk with my young friends, but the sight of them comforted me. I found myself looking at Janet with the Lad’s eyes. I, too, in watching her face, saw “a glory upon it, as upon the face of one who feels a light round his hair.”