"Well," said Pats, laying down his knife and fork, and giving his whole
attention to the subject, "as to general intelligence, foresight, logic,
and a knowledge of human nature, he is a wonder, even for a dog. And
when it comes to dignity and tact, ease of manner and freedom from
personal vanity, why--the other Solomon was a beginner."
She nodded and smiled approval. "I know something of dogs and men, and I
can easily believe it. Certain men exist, however, who are mentally
superior to dogs. But it's the moral gulf between the two species that
is so disheartening."
"All owing to the fatal power of speech."
"Possibly."
"I am sure of it. If dogs could talk, they would abuse the power, as
humans do, and soon descend to the human level. They would lose the
dignity that silence alone bestows, and become bores--like the rest of
us." With a deferential movement of his head toward the priest, he
added, "Except as they apply to myself, these remarks are in no way
personal."
As Father Burke, with a perfunctory smile, bowed acknowledgment, the
girl at his side inquired, with a serious face, "Well, what can be
done?"
Pats, with equal seriousness, replied, "How would it do to establish an
institute for the propagation of silence?"
"The millennium would be in sight!" she exclaimed.
"And instead of rhetoric and declamation teach economy in words; show
the pupils by illustration and example how much better they look when
their mouths are not open."
"A very sensible idea! And award medals to those who attain the highest
flights of silence."
"The very thought is restful," said Pats. "And would you mind if I
offered Solomon a professorship?"
"Not at all! It would look rather well in the catalogue, 'Solomon Boyd,
Instructor in Moral Philosophy and Deportment.'"
With a glance at the mirthless face of the reverend gentleman beside
her, she added, "And on the dome of the college shall be a colossal
statue of Father Burke, in solid gold. He has not uttered a word in half
an hour."
The priest answered pleasantly, but the tone of the conversation had
given him little pleasure. Folly was in the air, and Elinor Marshall, to
his surprise, seemed in harmony with it. Heretofore he had known her as
a thoughtful, serious-minded woman, with a leaning to melancholy; and
this unexpected and evidently enjoyable flight--or plunge--into pure
nonsense, caused him a distinct uneasiness. The girl was brightening up,
even becoming merry; a state of mind that never leads to a nunnery.
In this conversation, which ran on with rare intervals of seriousness
until the meal was ended, Father Burke took no part. And when the
younger people had gone below for their interview with Solomon, he
decided, after long reflection, that considering the gravity of the case
his obvious duty was to drop a word in the lady's ear concerning this
new acquaintance. The rest of the Boyds--the two sisters--were good
Catholics, and from them there was nothing to fear. But if he, Father
Burke, could counteract the influence of this interesting heretic, it
would be a pious work. He must find his opportunity for an earnest
conversation, and before she landed.
The more he meditated, the more anxious he became. But Fate, the
practical joker,--the fickle, the ruthless, the forever mocking,--was
only waiting to lay his enemy at his feet.
[Illustration]