write! They use his Gallic War as an
elementary Latin text for foreigners! All very well for the skin-clad
barbarian, who through the gloomy fastnesses of the northern forests pursues
the sanguinary boar and horrid bear. But for cultivated men like ourselves — I
ask you, my dear young man! Oh" — he looked embarrassed — "you will
understand that in my remarks on foreigners I meant nothing personal. I
perceive that you are an outlander, despite your obvious breeding and
erudition. Are you by any chance from the fabled land of Hind, with its
pearl-decked maidens and its elephants?"
"No, farther away than
that," said Padway. He knew he had flushed a literary Roman patrician, of
the sort who couldn't ask you to pass the butter without wrapping the request
in three puns, four mythological illusions, and a dissertation on the
manufacture of butter in ancient Crete. "A place called America. I doubt
whether I should ever return, though."
"Ah, how right you are!
Why should one live anywhere but in Rome if one can? But perhaps you can tell
me of the wonders of far-off China, with its gold-paved streets!"
"I can tell you a
little about it," said Padway cautiously. "For one thing, the streets
aren't gold-paved. In fact they're mostly not paved at all."
"How disappointing! But
I daresay that a truthful traveler returning from heaven would pronounce its
wonders grossly overrated. We must get together, my excellent young sir. I am
Cornelius Anicius."
Evidently, Padway thought,
he was expected to know who Cornelius Anicius was. He introduced himself. Ah,
he thought, enter romance. A pretty slim dark girl approached, addressed
Anicius as "Father," and said that she had not been able to find the
Sabellian edition of Persius Flaccus.
"Somebody is using it,
no doubt," said Anicius. "Martinus, this is my daughter Dorothea. A
veritable pearl from King Khusrau's headdress of a daughter, though I as her
father may be prejudiced." The girl smiled sweetly at Padway and excused
herself.
Anicius asked: "And
now, my dear young man, what is your occupation?"
Without thinking, Padway
said he was in business.
"Indeed? What sort of
business?"
Padway told him. The
patrician froze up as he digested the information. He was still polite and
smiling, but with a smile of a different sort.
"Well, well, that's
interesting. Very interesting. I daresay you'll make a good financial success
of your business." He spoke the sentence with a slight difficulty, like a
Y.M.C.A. secretary talking about the facts of life. "I suppose we aren't
to blame for the callings wherein God stations us. But it's too bad you haven't
tried the public service. That is the only way to rise above one's class, and
an intelligent young man like you deserves to do so. And now, if you'll excuse
me, I'll do some reading."
Padway had been hoping for
an invitation to Anicius' house. But now that Anicius knew him to be a mere
vulgar manufacturer, no invitation would be forthcoming. Padway looked at his
watch; it was nearly lunch time. He went out and awoke Fritharik.
The Vandal yawned.
"Find all the books you wanted, Martinus? I was just dreaming of my
beautiful estate —"
"To hell with —"
barked Padway, then shut his mouth.
"What?" said
Fritharik. "Can't I even dream about the time I was rich and respected? That's
not very —"
"Nothing, nothing. I
didn't mean you."
"I'm glad of that. My
one consolation nowadays is my memories. But what are you so angry at,
Martinus? You look as if you could bite nails in two." When there was
elementary Latin text for foreigners! All very well for the skin-clad
barbarian, who through the gloomy fastnesses of the northern forests pursues
the sanguinary boar and horrid bear. But for cultivated men like ourselves — I
ask you, my dear young man! Oh" — he looked embarrassed — "you will
understand that in my remarks on foreigners I meant nothing personal. I
perceive that you are an outlander, despite your obvious breeding and
erudition. Are you by any chance from the fabled land of Hind, with its
pearl-decked maidens and its elephants?"
"No, farther away than
that," said Padway. He knew he had flushed a literary Roman patrician, of
the sort who couldn't ask you to pass the butter without wrapping the request
in three puns, four mythological illusions, and a dissertation on the
manufacture of butter in ancient Crete. "A place called America. I doubt
whether I should ever return, though."
"Ah, how right you are!
Why should one live anywhere but in Rome if one can? But perhaps you can tell
me of the wonders of far-off China, with its gold-paved streets!"
"I can tell you a
little about it," said Padway cautiously. "For one thing, the streets
aren't gold-paved. In fact they're mostly not paved at all."
"How disappointing! But
I daresay that a truthful traveler returning from heaven would pronounce its
wonders grossly overrated. We must get together, my excellent young sir. I am
Cornelius Anicius."
Evidently, Padway thought,
he was expected to know who Cornelius Anicius was. He introduced himself. Ah,
he thought, enter romance. A pretty slim dark girl approached, addressed
Anicius as "Father," and said that she had not been able to find the
Sabellian edition of Persius Flaccus.
"Somebody is using it,
no doubt," said Anicius. "Martinus, this is my daughter Dorothea. A
veritable pearl from King Khusrau's headdress of a daughter, though I as her
father may be prejudiced." The girl smiled sweetly at Padway and excused
herself.
Anicius asked: "And
now, my dear young man, what is your occupation?"
Without thinking, Padway
said he was in business.
"Indeed? What sort of
business?"
Padway told him. The
patrician froze up as he digested the information. He was still polite and
smiling, but with a smile of a different sort.
"Well, well, that's
interesting. Very interesting. I daresay you'll make a good financial success
of your business." He spoke the sentence with a slight difficulty, like a
Y.M.C.A. secretary talking about the facts of life. "I suppose we aren't
to blame for the callings wherein God stations us. But it's too bad you haven't
tried the public service. That is the only way to rise above one's class, and
an intelligent young man like you deserves to do so. And now, if you'll excuse
me, I'll do some reading."
Padway had been hoping for
an invitation to Anicius' house. But now that Anicius knew him to be a mere
vulgar manufacturer, no invitation would be forthcoming. Padway looked at his
watch; it was nearly lunch time. He went out and awoke Fritharik.
The Vandal yawned.
"Find all the books you wanted, Martinus? I was just dreaming of my
beautiful estate —"
"To hell with —"
barked Padway, then shut his mouth.
"What?" said
Fritharik. "Can't I even dream about the time I was rich and respected? That's
not very —"
"Nothing, nothing. I
didn't mean you."
"I'm glad of that. My
one consolation nowadays is my memories. But what are you so angry at,
Martinus? You look as if you could bite nails in two." When there was
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