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Updated: May 12, 2025
Lautner has one flat, dead-level, unprofitable soul that neither soars high nor dives deep; and his mind reasons unobjectionable things out syllogistically, in a manner perfectly inconsequential. He is icily regular, splendidly null. Every man measures others by himself he has only one standard. When a man ridicules certain traits in other men, he ridicules himself.
And his tone, when she had spoken of the dead-level of life in the city below them and the problem of raising one's head "That's what I mean to do" had seemed so like the confident tones of a child on the threshold of life. Were we all like that, after all lifted up for a moment so that we could see; blundering forward the next, blindly, into pitfalls of our own making?
"Thank you! This sutny goin' combine business with pleasuah!" "Get away with you!" scolded Old Man Curry. Now, nearly every one knows that the simon-pure feed-box information, the low-down and the dead-level tip, may be picked up behind any barn where hostlers, exercise boys, and apprentice jockeys congregate.
Everybody has opinions, and overrules the "jedge" next day, or not, as the case may be. This petty strife may seem absurd to us, but it is all a part of the Spirit of the Hive, as Maeterlinck would say. It is better than dead-level dumbness better than the subjection of the peasantry of Europe. These pioneers settle their own disputes.
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