"Hastings," said the doctor, jerkily, and he seemed almost like one
speaking against his will--"what do you make out of it? Don't you think
it--pretty wasteful?"
"Yes--wasteful!" he went on, in response to the inquiring look. "I mean
just that. There are a lot of people," he spoke passionately now, "who
seem to think there is some sort of great design in the world. What in
heaven's name would they say about this? Do you see anything high and
fine and harmonious about it?"
That last with a sneer, and he stopped with an ugly laugh. "They make me
tired--those people who have so much to say about the world being so
right and lovely. They might travel with me on my rounds for a day or
two. One day would finish a good deal of this factory-made optimism."
"Does Dr. Hubers feel--as you do?" Hastings asked, not quite concealing
the anxiety in the question.
"How in God's name could he feel any other way?--though it's hard making
him out,"--turning to Georgia, who nodded understandingly. "Just when
he's ready to let himself go he'll pull himself together and say it's so
nice to have plenty of time for reading, that Ernestine has been reading
a lot of great things to him this summer, and he believes now he is
really going to begin to get an education.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220