old-timer. Some of that stuff is kinda interesting."
Mr. Etaoin contemplated the sea serpent, and the sea serpent contemplated Mr. Etaoin. Mr. Etaoin lit a cigarette and blew grey smoke. The sea serpent exserted its tongue and flickered it; a long yellow naked nerve of a tongue, big as a man's hand, wrist, and arm, languidly sentient, gracefully forked, taster of sounds, feeler of vibrations, symbol of strange senses, silent and secret, suggestive of evil that harked back to Eden. Mr. Etaoin's eyes, circumscribed by rings of horn, looked at the snake through dust-speckled glass ovals. The serpent's eyes, lidless and fixed, regarded the proofreader with catlike pupils, thin black ellipses standing on end in fields of copper. The proofreader's eyes were dull, muscle-bound green things. The snake's eyes were sombre, rare, and wicked jewels.
Bored with the mutual examination, the snake slowly looped about its enormous cage, the convolutions of its body and tail following through the invisible pathway previously described by its head. Head rearing, it tested the interstices and reticulations of the steel latticework that kept it captive, hoping listlessly to find an opening it had overlooked before, searching the confines of its jail world for freedom into the beyond, examining for the thousandth time the same old bars that hemmed it in.
Etaoin moved jerkily, startling the serpent. It faced him, vibrating its tail against the wooden floor of its cage so that a whirring arose like a woodsaw's song.
THE SNAKE: Why do you stand there staring at me? You and I have nothing in common except our hatred of each other.
ETAOIN: You fascinate me. But why do you buzz your tail that way, mimicking a rattlesnake?
THE SNAKE: Why not? It is my fondest atavism.
ETAOIN: Could it be that the instinctive urge which prompts me to seek a tree when a dog barks at me is the same one that prompts you to endeavor to rattle when you are alarmed?
THE SNAKE: No. Your urge is born of fear. Mine of hate. Your instinct is one of cowardice. Mine one of counterattack. You wish to flee. I to fight back. You are afraid of your own shadow. I am afraid of nothing.
ETAOIN: The god who gave you bravery gave me cunning.
THE SNAKE: I would not trade with you.
ETAOIN: Nevertheless, you are in a cage, and I am free to walk about.
THE SNAKE: Oh, you have your cage, too. You test your bars just as often as I test mine.
ETAOIN: I understand you somewhat vaguely.
THE SNAKE: I shall not be more explicit.
ETAOIN: Why do you keep rubbing your chin against the floor?
THE SNAKE: Why do you stand there like a fool? I do it because I like the sensation; because the friction gives me sensual pleasure; because my face itches and the rubbing ameliorates the irritation. Hah! Would you call scratching a counter-irritant for itching? Have I made an epigram?
ETAOIN: I doubt it.
THE SNAKE: Why do you wear those things over your eyes?
ETAOIN: In order to see.
THE SNAKE: The god that made you cunning made my eyes efficient enough to perceive objects without aid. In fact, the Lord of All Living dealt with me quite generously. Strength He gave me, and symmetry and endurance and patience. Viper and constrictor both He made me. My venom is more virulent than a cobra's. My coils are more terrible than a python's. I can slay with a single bite. I can kill with a single squeeze. And when I squeeze and bite at the same time, death comes galloping, I tell you. Heh, heh, heh! But look at you! You even have to hang rags on yourself to protect your weak skin. You have to hang things in front of your eyes in order to see. Look at yourself. Heh, heh, heh! God did well by you, indeed!
ETAOIN: I concede I am not His most perfect vessel.
THE SNAKE: What do you eat?
ETAOIN: I enjoy a
Mr. Etaoin contemplated the sea serpent, and the sea serpent contemplated Mr. Etaoin. Mr. Etaoin lit a cigarette and blew grey smoke. The sea serpent exserted its tongue and flickered it; a long yellow naked nerve of a tongue, big as a man's hand, wrist, and arm, languidly sentient, gracefully forked, taster of sounds, feeler of vibrations, symbol of strange senses, silent and secret, suggestive of evil that harked back to Eden. Mr. Etaoin's eyes, circumscribed by rings of horn, looked at the snake through dust-speckled glass ovals. The serpent's eyes, lidless and fixed, regarded the proofreader with catlike pupils, thin black ellipses standing on end in fields of copper. The proofreader's eyes were dull, muscle-bound green things. The snake's eyes were sombre, rare, and wicked jewels.
Bored with the mutual examination, the snake slowly looped about its enormous cage, the convolutions of its body and tail following through the invisible pathway previously described by its head. Head rearing, it tested the interstices and reticulations of the steel latticework that kept it captive, hoping listlessly to find an opening it had overlooked before, searching the confines of its jail world for freedom into the beyond, examining for the thousandth time the same old bars that hemmed it in.
Etaoin moved jerkily, startling the serpent. It faced him, vibrating its tail against the wooden floor of its cage so that a whirring arose like a woodsaw's song.
THE SNAKE: Why do you stand there staring at me? You and I have nothing in common except our hatred of each other.
ETAOIN: You fascinate me. But why do you buzz your tail that way, mimicking a rattlesnake?
THE SNAKE: Why not? It is my fondest atavism.
ETAOIN: Could it be that the instinctive urge which prompts me to seek a tree when a dog barks at me is the same one that prompts you to endeavor to rattle when you are alarmed?
THE SNAKE: No. Your urge is born of fear. Mine of hate. Your instinct is one of cowardice. Mine one of counterattack. You wish to flee. I to fight back. You are afraid of your own shadow. I am afraid of nothing.
ETAOIN: The god who gave you bravery gave me cunning.
THE SNAKE: I would not trade with you.
ETAOIN: Nevertheless, you are in a cage, and I am free to walk about.
THE SNAKE: Oh, you have your cage, too. You test your bars just as often as I test mine.
ETAOIN: I understand you somewhat vaguely.
THE SNAKE: I shall not be more explicit.
ETAOIN: Why do you keep rubbing your chin against the floor?
THE SNAKE: Why do you stand there like a fool? I do it because I like the sensation; because the friction gives me sensual pleasure; because my face itches and the rubbing ameliorates the irritation. Hah! Would you call scratching a counter-irritant for itching? Have I made an epigram?
ETAOIN: I doubt it.
THE SNAKE: Why do you wear those things over your eyes?
ETAOIN: In order to see.
THE SNAKE: The god that made you cunning made my eyes efficient enough to perceive objects without aid. In fact, the Lord of All Living dealt with me quite generously. Strength He gave me, and symmetry and endurance and patience. Viper and constrictor both He made me. My venom is more virulent than a cobra's. My coils are more terrible than a python's. I can slay with a single bite. I can kill with a single squeeze. And when I squeeze and bite at the same time, death comes galloping, I tell you. Heh, heh, heh! But look at you! You even have to hang rags on yourself to protect your weak skin. You have to hang things in front of your eyes in order to see. Look at yourself. Heh, heh, heh! God did well by you, indeed!
ETAOIN: I concede I am not His most perfect vessel.
THE SNAKE: What do you eat?
ETAOIN: I enjoy a
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