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After due correspondence, and much consultation, they decided upon Patrick and Mary Flanagan; and Thyrsis hired a two-seated carriage and drove in to meet them at the depot. It was all very funny; years afterwards, when the clouds of tragedy were dispersed, they were able to laugh over the situation.
He saw empty-headed rich people paying fortunes for the manuscripts of poems which all the world had once rejected; he saw the seven towns contending for Homer dead, through which the living Homer begged his bread. And Thyrsis could not bring himself to believe that a thing so monstrous could continue to exist forever. There was no other department of human activity of which it was true.
It was all very picturesque to portray one's hero as dying of disease; but in reality it was not at all satisfactory. Thyrsis did not die, he merely ate a bowl of bread and milk, and then went about for several hours, feeling as if there were a football blown up inside of him.
So, after three weeks, poor Dorothea had to be sent away weeping copiously, and bewildered over this cruel misfortune. Corydon and Thyrsis went back again to washing their own dishes; being glad to pay the price for quietness and privacy, and vowing that they would never again try, to "keep a servant". Section 8.
From a woman like Mrs. Jesse Dyckman, skilled in intellectual fence, and merciless to her inferiors, Corydon would have turned tail and fled. Thyrsis was able to sit by and let Mrs.
Or had he perhaps experienced a reaction, and was now trying to deny his feelings? For several hours Thyrsis pondered the problem; and then he went and sat by her, as she was reading on the piazza. "You haven't heard anything more from Mr. Harding, have you?" he asked. "Nothing," said Corydon. "What do you suppose he intends to do?" "I I don't know," she said.
Thyrsis judged that the tidings must have got about that there was a new "lion" in town; for a couple of days after this he was called up by Comings, most popular of novelists, who asked him to have luncheon at the "Thistle" club. And when Thyrsis went, Comings explained that Mrs. Parmley Fatten had read his book, and was anxious to meet him, and requested that he be brought round to tea.
But in midwinter there were few days when they could sit upon a bench for long; and so they would walk and walk, until Corydon was exhausted, and he would have to help her back to the room. Thyrsis in these days was like a wild animal in a cage; pacing back and forth and testing every corner of his prison.
What would happen to a man who gave himself up to such a state of soul, in a community where the wolf-law and the wolf-customs prevailed? A grim purpose had been forming itself in Thyrsis' mind. He would suppress the artist in himself for the present he would do it, cost whatever agony it might.
When Thyrsis went home that evening, he carried with him new ideas to ponder; also some of Darrell's pamphlets and speeches the product of his ten years' struggle to make the teachings of Christ of some authority in the Christian Church. Thyrsis sat up late, and read one of these pamphlets, an indictment of Capitalism from the point of view of the artist and spiritual creator.
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