_That_ can never be
unconscious,' was the respectful answer. 'They say---'
'Yes, what do they say?' He recognised a fairy theory, and jumped at
it.
'That in sleep,' continued the other, encouraged, 'the spirit knows a
far more concentrated life--dips down into the deep sea of being--our
waking life merely the froth upon the shore.'
Rogers stared at him. 'Yes, yes,' he answered slowly, 'that's very
pretty, very charming; it's quite delightful. What ideas you have, my
dear Minks! What jolly, helpful ideas!'
Minks beamed with pleasure.
'Not my own, Mr. Rogers, not my own,' he said, with as much pride as
if they _were_ his own, 'but some of the oldest in the world, just
coming into fashion again with the turn of the tide, it seems. Our
daily life--even the most ordinary--is immensely haunted, girdled
about with a wonder of incredible things. There are hints everywhere
to-day, though few can read the enormous script complete. Here and
there one reads a letter or a word, that's all. Yet the best minds
refuse to know the language, not even the ABC of it; they read another
language altogether---'
'The best minds!' repeated Rogers. 'What d'you mean by that!' It
sounded, as Minks said it, so absurdly like best families.
'The scientific and philosophical minds, sir. They think it's not
worth learning, this language.
Pages:
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511