is a great man. He is Leo's friend, and Dick's friend, and proud am I that he is my friend.»
«And that other line,» Leo said. «From the same sonnet,» he explained to Graham. «Listen to the sound of it: 'To hear what song the star of morning sings'—oh, listen,» the boy went on, his voice hushed low with beauty- love for the words: «'With perished beauty in his hands as clay, Shall he restore futurity its dream—'»
He broke off as Paula's sisters entered, and rose shyly to greet them.
* * * * *
Dinner that night was as any dinner at which the madroГ±o sages were present. Dick was as robustly controversial as usual, locking horns with Aaron Hancock on Bergson, attacking the latter's metaphysics in sharp realistic fashion.
«Your Bergson is a charlatan philosopher, Aaron,» Dick concluded. «He has the same old medicine-man's bag of metaphysical tricks, all decked out and frilled with the latest ascertained facts of science.»
«'Tis true,» Terrence agreed. «Bergson is a charlatan thinker. 'Tis why he is so popular—»
«I deny—» Hancock broke in.
«Wait a wee, Aaron. 'Tis a thought I have glimmered. Let me catch it before it flutters away into the azure. Dick's caught Bergson with the goods on him, filched straight from the treasure-house of science. His very cocksureness is filched from Darwin's morality of strength based on the survival of the fittest. And what did Bergson do with it? Touched it up with a bit of James' pragmatism, rosied it over with the eternal hope in man's breast that he will live again, and made it all a-shine with Nietzsche's 'nothing succeeds like excess—'»
«Wilde's, you mean,» corrected Ernestine.
«Heaven knows I should have filched it for myself had you not been present,» Terrence sighed, with a bow to her. «Some day the antiquarians will decide the authorship. Personally I would say it smacked of Methuselah—But as I was saying, before I was delightfully interrupted…»
«Who more cocksure than Dick?» Aaron was challenging a little later; while Paula glanced significantly to Graham.
«I was looking at the herd of yearling stallions but yesterday,» Terrence replied, «and with the picture of the splendid beasties still in my eyes I'll ask: And who more delivers the goods?»
«But Hancock's objection is solid,» Martinez ventured. «It would be a mean and profitless world without mystery. Dick sees no mystery.»
«There you wrong him,» Terrence defended. «I know him well. Dick recognizes mystery, but not of the nursery-child variety. No cock-and– bull stories for him, such as you romanticists luxuriate in.»
«Terrence gets me,» Dick nodded. «The world will always be mystery. To me man's consciousness is no greater mystery than the reaction of the gases that make a simple drop of water. Grant that mystery, and all the more complicated phenomena cease to be mysteries. That simple chemical reaction is like one of the axioms on which the edifice of geometry is reared. Matter and force are the everlasting mysteries, manifesting themselves in the twin mysteries of space and time. The manifestations are not mysteries—only the stuff of the manifestations, matter and force; and the theater of the manifestations, space and time.»
Dick ceased and idly watched the expressionless Ah Ha and Ah Me who chanced at the moment to be serving opposite him. Their faces did not talk, was his thought; although ten to one was a fair bet that they were informed with the same knowledge that had perturbed Oh Dear.
«And there you are,» Terrence was triumphing. «'Tis the perfect joy of him—never up in the air with dizzy heels. Flat on the good ground he stands, four square to fact and law, set against all airy fancies and bubbly speculations…»
* * * * *
And as at table, so afterward that evening no one could have guessed from Dick that all was not well with him. He seemed bent on celebrating Lute's and Ernestine's return, refused to tolerate the heavy talk of the philosophers, and bubbled over with pranks and tricks. Paula yielded to the contagion, and aided and abetted him in his practical jokes which none escaped.
Choicest among these was the kiss of welcome. No man escaped it. To Graham was accorded the honor of receiving it first so that he might witness the discomfiture of the others, who, one by one, were ushered in by Dick from the patio.
Hancock, Dick's arm guiding him, came down the room to confront Paula and her sisters standing in a row on three chairs in the middle of the floor. He scanned them suspiciously, and insisted upon walking around behind them. But there seemed nothing unusual about them save that each wore a man's felt hat.
«Looks good to me,» Hancock announced, as he stood on the floor before them and looked up at them.
«And it is good,» Dick assured him. «As representing the ranch in its fairest aspects, they are to administer the kiss of welcome. Make your choice, Aaron.»
Aaron, with a quick whirl to catch some possible lurking disaster at his back, demanded, «They are all three to kiss me?»
«No, make your choice which is to give you the kiss.»
«The two I do not choose will not feel that I have discriminated against them?» Aaron insisted.
«Whiskers no objection?» was his next query.
«Not in the way at all,» Lute told him. «I have always wondered what it would be like to kiss black whiskers.»
«Here's where all the philosophers get kissed tonight, so hurry up,» Ernestine said. «The others are waiting. I, too, have yet to be kissed by an alfalfa field.»
«Whom do you choose?» Dick urged.
«As if, after that, there were any choice about it,» Hancock returned jauntily. «I kiss my lady—the Little Lady.»
As he put up his lips, Paula bent her head forward, and, nicely directed, from the indented crown of her hat canted a glassful of water into his face.
When Leo's turn came, he bravely made his choice of Paula and nearly spoiled the show by reverently bending and kissing the hem of her gown.
«It will never do,» Ernestine told him. «It must be a real kiss. Put up your lips to be kissed.»
«Let the last be first and kiss me, Leo,» Lute begged, to save him from his embarrassment.
He looked his gratitude, put up his lips, but without enough tilt of his head, so that he received the water from Lute's hat down the back of his neck.
«All three shall kiss me and thus shall paradise be thrice multiplied,» was Terrence's way out of the difficulty; and simultaneously he received three crowns of water for his gallantry.
Dick's boisterousness waxed apace. His was the most care-free seeming in the world as he measured Froelig and Martinez against the door to settle the dispute that had arisen as to whether Froelig or Martinez was the taller.
«Knees straight and together, heads back,» Dick commanded.
And as their heads touched the wood, from the other side came a rousing thump that jarred them. The door swung open, revealing Ernestine with a padded gong-stick in either hand.
Dick, a high-heeled satin slipper in his hand, was under a sheet with Terrence, teaching him «Brother Bob I'm bobbed» to the uproarious joy of the others, when the Masons and Watsons and all their Wickenberg following entered upon the scene.
Whereupon Dick insisted that the young men of their party receive the kiss of welcome. Nor did he miss, in the hubbub of a dozen persons meeting as many more, Lottie Mason's: «Oh, good evening, Mr. Graham. I thought you had gone.»
And Dick, in the midst of the confusion of settling such an influx of guests, still maintaining his exuberant jolly pose, waited for that sharp scrutiny that women have only for women. Not many moments later he saw Lottie Mason steal such a look, keen with speculation, at Paula as she chanced face to face with Graham, saying something to him.
Not yet, was Dick's conclusion. Lottie did not know. But suspicion was rife, and nothing, he was certain, under the circumstances, would gladden her woman's heart more than to discover the unimpeachable Paula as womanly weak as herself.
Lottie Mason was a tall, striking brunette of twenty-five, undeniably beautiful, and, as Dick had learned, undeniably daring. In the not remote past, attracted by her, and, it must be submitted, subtly invited by her, he had
