TWO STORIES
697
couple. With a decisive and almost curt gesture, the leader motioned
them back. He broke off the splinter and essayed speech again.
"If
we fail or falter in the labor before us, generations yet un–
born shall charge us with the immense negligence. . . . "
This time the old man's voice was almost broken: "Don't refuse
us, sir. Before we go the Road-the pair of us-we'd like to know
that he'd be buried with his own."
"Scholars as yet unconceived shall vilify us in their golden an–
nals.... "
Wheedlingly: "Ah, now, sir, you're refusin' us.... "
"Loyally and zestfully as becomes a proud and ancient people
we must undertake the lovely labor. . .. "
The old umbrella of a woman momentarily detached herself
from her husband's arm. Her voice was a jet of low breeze. "We
might as well be idle, Daniel," she said.
The leader's voice poured strongly over the people: "I ask you
therefore to hold carefully the brimming chalice of the language.
Through your work and in your games! In your labor and in your
leisure! I charge those among you who have children. . . . "
The old man shook his head. "Aye!" he repeated, "those among
us who have children." The tone of his voice indicated only regret.
He donned his hat. "Come, Katie," he said quietly. The old pair
turned cumbersomely as if they were a railway engine on a turning
table. The people melted before them. On the fringe of the crowd
the old man turned and removed his hat. He almost genuflected.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said. "You must believe us--we didn't
come here to cause a disturbance." Then, to the people, "Ladies and
gentlemen, I beg all of ye'er pardons. I do, indeed."
The old couple walked slowly away. They took with them an
unmistakable grandeur and dignity. When the leader tried to begin
afresh he found his voice drowned in the jaunty uproar of his heart.
