of the change in the atmosphere, Taub retired to the kitchen and came out with whisky and glasses. Someone went to the main house for ice and soda water; Preston Norell fetched wine, and the treasurer took the opportunity to draw Taub aside and ask him for a contribution, a thing he might well have done earlier, had not something ungenerous and straitlaced in his goodness (he was a member of the purist faction) been unwilling to help Taub to extricate himself from a false position. “You should have asked me before, Henry,” Taub remonstrated softly, as he got out his checkbook and in his large, unformed handwriting, scrawled out a medium-sized check. Henry, a tall, thin young man with an ovoid head who resembled a nail-file, felt an immediate rising of irritation; his pride as a functionary was nettled at having negligence ascribed to him when he had merely not exceeded his duty; at the same time, his conscience admitted that the reproof was, in a finer sense, justified. But that he shouldbe made to seem guilty, twice over, once wrongly, once rightly, while Taub remained blandly innocent, infuriated this radical young printer, who was not accustomed to dealing with persons of a certain eminence. He took the wet check, blew on it, and withdrew to a corner of the room, rebuffing a whisky and soda. “Thanks, my wife and I don’t drink,” he declared.
That evening, nevertheless, marked the beginning of the lyrical phase of the community. The issue of Joe Lockman was allowed to drop, once Editor Haines had contributed “a very sensible suggestion”: that Joe should be requested to hold off the shooting till after breakfast-time. “Do you want that in the form of a motion?” Eleanor Macdermott asked. “No,” everyone cried. “Just let someone speak to him,” and the secretary closed his book without having taken a note, since no official business had been transacted. Later, sitting on the floor, a little apart from the others, Macdermott and John Desmond tried to analyze what had happened to the realist case. “It’s a fundamental weakness of their position,” Macdermott was explaining in a low voice, as if he were passing on a war-secret. “They don’t know what they want. Give them the floor and they’ll hang themselves; I’ve seen it every time.” Desmond, who was very handsome, nodded with a somber face. “Revolutionary nihilism,” he muttered; he was sufficiently new to his recaptured religion to refer every phenomenon to a pronouncement of the Church. “Those boys aren’t revolutionists,” Macdermott whispered scoffingly. “They’re conservatives. They’re soconservative they’re afraid of their own thoughts.” Desmond listened doubtfully, with an evasive hitch of his fine, square shoulders. “The terms need defining,” he declared at last, very softly and thoughtfully. Macdermott coughed. In general, he enjoyed speaking with people who disagreed with him or people less intelligent than himself, but now, still full of his subject, he was in want of a congenial listener. He got up, excusing himself, and went over to Taub, who was standing smoking alone by the fireplace. “Why not Taub?” he said to himself simply. “Say, Will,” he announced, raising a half-playful finger, “I’ve got an idea for you …” And he began to explain to Taub, quite without malice and indeed with the desire to be helpful, just how he and his faction always defeated themselves. Taub listened with interest, nodding slowly as he took in the argument, and moving his lips slightly, repeating Macdermott’s words under his breath, as if storing them for the winter. “You’re all wrong, Mac,” he placidly declared, when he saw that Macdermott had finished. “What?” demanded Macdermott, unable to believe his ears, and beginning to gasp and stutter. “Is that all you have to say?” He felt utterly nonplussed and bewildered, like a suitor rejected without an explanation. Taub gave a confirming nod, and then,
That evening, nevertheless, marked the beginning of the lyrical phase of the community. The issue of Joe Lockman was allowed to drop, once Editor Haines had contributed “a very sensible suggestion”: that Joe should be requested to hold off the shooting till after breakfast-time. “Do you want that in the form of a motion?” Eleanor Macdermott asked. “No,” everyone cried. “Just let someone speak to him,” and the secretary closed his book without having taken a note, since no official business had been transacted. Later, sitting on the floor, a little apart from the others, Macdermott and John Desmond tried to analyze what had happened to the realist case. “It’s a fundamental weakness of their position,” Macdermott was explaining in a low voice, as if he were passing on a war-secret. “They don’t know what they want. Give them the floor and they’ll hang themselves; I’ve seen it every time.” Desmond, who was very handsome, nodded with a somber face. “Revolutionary nihilism,” he muttered; he was sufficiently new to his recaptured religion to refer every phenomenon to a pronouncement of the Church. “Those boys aren’t revolutionists,” Macdermott whispered scoffingly. “They’re conservatives. They’re soconservative they’re afraid of their own thoughts.” Desmond listened doubtfully, with an evasive hitch of his fine, square shoulders. “The terms need defining,” he declared at last, very softly and thoughtfully. Macdermott coughed. In general, he enjoyed speaking with people who disagreed with him or people less intelligent than himself, but now, still full of his subject, he was in want of a congenial listener. He got up, excusing himself, and went over to Taub, who was standing smoking alone by the fireplace. “Why not Taub?” he said to himself simply. “Say, Will,” he announced, raising a half-playful finger, “I’ve got an idea for you …” And he began to explain to Taub, quite without malice and indeed with the desire to be helpful, just how he and his faction always defeated themselves. Taub listened with interest, nodding slowly as he took in the argument, and moving his lips slightly, repeating Macdermott’s words under his breath, as if storing them for the winter. “You’re all wrong, Mac,” he placidly declared, when he saw that Macdermott had finished. “What?” demanded Macdermott, unable to believe his ears, and beginning to gasp and stutter. “Is that all you have to say?” He felt utterly nonplussed and bewildered, like a suitor rejected without an explanation. Taub gave a confirming nod, and then,
Similar Books
