"
"But it is the living strenuously which holds you," Corliss interjected.
"Frona's philosophy," the colonel sneered.
"And my philosophy, and yours."
"And of the agglutinated dust--"
"Which is quickened with a passion you do not take into account,--the
passion of duty, of race, of God!"
"And the compensation?" Trethaway demanded.
"Each breath you draw. The Mayfly lives an hour."
"I don't see it."
"Blood and sweat! Blood and sweat! You cried that after the rough and
tumble in the Opera House, and every word of it was receipt in full."
"Frona's philosophy."
"And yours and mine."
The colonel threw up his shoulders, and after a pause confessed. "You
see, try as I will, I can't make a pessimist out of myself. We are all
compensated, and I more fully than most men. What end? I asked, and
the answer forthcame: Since the ultimate end is beyond us, then the
immediate. More compensation, here and now!"
"Quite hedonistic."
"And rational. I shall look to it at once. I can buy grub and
blankets for a score; I can eat and sleep for only one; ergo, why not
for two?"
Corliss took his feet down and sat up. "In other words?"
"I shall get married, and--give the community a shock. Communities
like shocks. That's one of their compensations for being
agglutinative."
"I can't think of but one woman," Corliss essayed tentatively, putting
out his hand.
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