A DUMB DOG--
OF course there had been nothing out of the way about the meeting,
nothing particularly extraordinary about the conversation, for all that
Corin, in spite of terming the matter simple, was convinced of its
depth. Yet, in some inexplicable way, it was a momentous meeting to
David. And the kernel of the whole thing lay, neither in what Corin had
said, nor in what he had said, but somehow in his own unspoken thoughts
during the conversation.
I don’t believe he could have put the actual thoughts into words. He
could not even formulate them very distinctly in his own mind, but all
the same there had been a curious crystallizing process going on within
him. Little half-formed thoughts, tiny almost insignificant incidents
of the past ten days, had drawn together with a strange magnetic
attraction into a concrete whole, though he was not, even now, fully
aware what that concrete whole represented to him.
But there it was, a tangible, definite something awaiting explanation.
He could handle it now, so to speak, without knowing to what purpose it
was to be put; it was massed together, where formerly it had been mere
particles, each too minute and separate to be caught and fingered. Yet,
lying where it did, in the inmost recesses of his soul, the question
was whether he could ever bring it sufficiently to the surface to show
it to another, and he believed that, without some external aid, he
would never arrive at its full significance.
Those who possess the gift of words are truly to be envied. With a few
brief sentences they are able to elicit sympathy, criticism, judgment,
understanding, whatever their need may be. The dumb dog is helpless. At
the best, he has but a few stammering phrases to his tongue, perhaps
but an inarticulate word or two, often no word at all.
You can’t blame his fellow mortals if they fail to understand his need:
it is given to few to interpret the language of the mute.