Thyrsis could not find a word to utter. He sat staring at the man in bewilderment.
“What did he say?” cried Corydon, at last.
“He said that for some time he had been dissatisfied with his work, and felt the need of more study and reflection. It quite took our breath away, for nobody’d had the least idea that anything was wrong.”
“But what’s he going to do?”
“Apparently he’s going abroad,” was the answer—“at least he ordered his mail to be forwarded to an address in Switzerland. And that’s all we know.”
Then, after a few remarks about the spiritual ferment in the churches, the worthy high-school principal went on his way, and left Corydon and Thyrsis in the middle of the street. For a minute or two they sat staring before them as if in a trance; and then suddenly from Thyrsis’ lips there burst a peal of wild laughter. “By the Lord God, he ran away from it!” he cried; and he seized Corydon by the arm and cried again, “He ran away from it!”
“Thyrsis!” exclaimed the other. “Don’t laugh about it!”
“Don’t laugh!” he gasped; and again the convulsion of hilarity swept over him.
But Corydon turned upon him swiftly. “No!” she cried. “Stop! It’s no joke!”
She was staring at him, her eyes wide with consternation and dismay. “Think!” she exclaimed. “He’s given up his career!”