“Is it worth while?” he counter-questioned, and, whether intent or accident, he let her see something of himself. “Is it even amusing—to be serious?”
“Is there in life nothing but amusement?”
“Oh, yes—but nothing so vital. I speak with knowledge. The gift of laughter has been my salvation.”
“From what, sir?”
“Ah—who shall say that? My history and my rearing have been such that had I bowed before them, I had become the most gloomy, melancholy man that steps this gloomy, melancholy world. By now I might have found existence insupportable, and so—who knows? I might have set a term to it. But I had the wisdom to prefer laughter. Humanity is a delectable spectacle if we but have the gift to observe it in a dispassionate spirit. Such a gift have I cultivated. The squirming of the human worm is interesting to observe, and the practice of observing it has this advantage, that while we observe it we forget to squirm ourselves.”
“The bitterness of your words belies their purport.”
He shrugged and smiled. “But proves my contention. That I might explain myself, you made me for a moment serious, set me squirming in my turn.”
She moved a little, and he fell into step beside her. A little while there was silence.
Presently—“You find me, no doubt, as amusing as any other of your human worms,” said she.
“God forbid!” he answered soberly.