In a word, Hugh Courteney, baby elephant, born tyrant, egotist--or
egoist, whichever it was--self-confessed egotist, stone-faced
egoist--with his big-wig airs and big-fiddle voice--was nearer right
than she would _ever_ submit to confess to him: there _were_ things
stronger than kin, bigger every way; and other things bigger than those
bigger things, and yet others still bigger than those, and so on and on
to the world's circumference. Staggering discovery. Yet how infinitely
old it looked the moment she clearly saw it: old, obvious, beautiful,
and ugly as the man in the moon. It chanced that right there and then
she was forced to accept its practical application. A white-jacket said
to her in a muffled voice:
"Ef you please--to not to move up to'a'ds de stage whilse de play
a-goin' on."
"Oh, but I must," she explained. "I'm on business; business that can't
wait any longer. I've already been delayed--" Her last word faltered.
Something occurring on the stage held her eyes, while two or three
auditors who had turned on her a glance of annoyance changed it to a
gaze of astonishment. The cub pilot came to her on tiptoe.
"Oh, Mr. So-and-so," she smilingly whispered as she edged on, "I want my
twin brothers. Mom-a wants them, right away, up-stairs."
He nodded at each word and began softly to say that this act would be
finished in a minute; but she broke in, still inching along: "I can't
wait a minute.
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