Something like the
west wind blows her fringed dress; there is a dream as old as life in
her eyes.
Faster and faster she dances about the candle, until at last she sinks
beside it and with a strange sure gesture--puts it out.
Silence and the dark. The prairie fades.... The little dark-wood
tables with their flowers and candles begin to glow again; the next
musical number is a popular one step!...
CHAPTER VIII
Villagers
Although the serious affairs of life are met as
conscientiously by the man or woman who has the real spirit
of the Village, nevertheless each of them assuredly shows
less of that sordidness and mad desire for money so
prevalent throughout the land....
The real villager's life is better balanced. He produces
written words of value, or material objects that offer
utility and delight. _He sings his songs. He has a good
time._--From the _Ink Pot_ (a Greenwich Village paper).
I quoted the above to a practical friend and he countered by quoting
Dickens' delightful fraud, "Harold Skimpole":
"This is where the bird lives and sings! They pluck his
feathers now and then, and clip his wings, but he sings, he
sings!.
Pages:
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256