“That is a fine argument. Are we not the slaves of the animals, and even the plants which unceasingly rebuild our bodies with their flesh and their pulp?”
My uncle was so pleased with his paradoxes, that he shouted them out, and fidgeted about in his seat, and sawed the air in a frenzy, as if he were seizing ideas in armfuls.
“My dear nephew, what a splendid idea it was of yours to bring this car! It does buck me up wonderfully. I must learn how to drive the beast. I shall be the mahout of this fierce mammoth. Eh! Eh! Ah! Ha!”
At the moment of this outburst of hilarity, I was just finishing my reasoning, and it was the outburst which caused me to make my attack—and to commit my imprudence.
“How amusing you are, uncle! Your gayety cheers me up. I recognize you again. Why aren’t you always like this, and why do you distrust me—me, who, on the contrary—deserve all your confidence?”
“But,” said Lerne, “you know quite well I will give it to you when the time has come. I have quite decided on that.”
“Why not at once, uncle?”
And I plunged bald-headed into my folly. “Are we not made of the same stuff, you and I? You don’t know me! Nothing can astonish me, and I know more than you think! Yes, uncle, I share your opinions and admire your acts.”
Lerne, somewhat surprised, began to laugh.