He raised a deprecating hand. "Yes. But that is nothing. I teach the
fundamentals"--he struck his breast--"the rest comes from within. For
myself, I am a mere retailer of sound. A peddler of something someone
else has made. The composer--he is the real artist. I have hoped that
some day Leela will compose. Brett has promised that he will urge
her. . . . Just now, she sings." He twinkled at Leela. "I fear she
thinks she sings very well. Pouf! It is nothing! She, too, is only a
sound-peddler."
With a burst, Zee entered the room. A smaller replica of Leela. Yet how
different! She came like a mountain torrent tumbling from the hillside.
Her short, dull-red draperies whirled about her elfin figure. Her dark
eyes were blazing. Black hair, flying over her shoulders with her
tumultuous entrance.
"Father! That is not so!" She stamped one of her bare feet, then rose
on strong, supple toes and whirled half around. The muscles stood out
beneath the smooth satin skin of her calves. "Leela, why do you let him
say such a thing? You sing beautifully." She whirled back. "And what am
I, then?"
The old man was wholly unperturbed. "You, Zee? Why, you are a peddler
of movement. Very swift, tempestuous movement, generally." He added to
me, "She thinks she is an artist. She is not. She is only a dancer."
V
It was what on Earth would have been termed late evening when we
started for the festival. Greedo, with his two daughters, had left half
an hour before.
We were dressed now in the fashion of the country. Brett had suggested
it; Martt had insisted upon it. I remembered with what a jaunty
swagger Martt had worn his clothes upon his return to Earth that
other time. He was dressed similarly now. A cloth shirt of glaring
green, with a high, rolling collar in front, and low in the back;
short trousers very wide and flapping at the knee. The trousers were
a lighter green, with dark green stripes; his stockings were tan; and
his green shoes were long and pointed. Over his shirt was a short tan
jacket, wide-shouldered and with puffed sleeves, and bangles dangling
from elbows and wrists. And there was a skirt to the jacket, rolling
upward at the waist.
My own costume was in the same fashion; and though it was a sober gray,
befitting my more mature years, I felt for a time awkward and foolish
in it. But when in the crowded city streets I found that no one seemed
particularly to remark me, I soon forgot it.
Brett wore a long cloak; I did not see how he was dressed. Frannie also
wore a cloak. Just before leaving she tossed it aside, and stood before
me, waiting for my admiration, with her characteristic twinkle, and her
pert upflung face daring me to disapprove. Even by contrast with Leela
and Zee, to my eyes at least Frannie was very pretty. She wore the
single draped garment with silver cords crossed at her breasts to shape
her figure; and with banded wrists, and tasseled bands above the knees.
Her blond curls were tied with flowing tassels. The whole costume, a
gray and blue, with a single deep-blue flower in her hair. And thin,
flexible sandals on her little feet.