Lemoyne noted, too, the early banishment of
Randolph's eyeglasses, which disappeared as they had disappeared once or
twice before. He felt that Randolph was trying to stay young rather late,
and was showing himself inclined to "go" with younger men longer than they
would welcome him. Why didn't he consort with people of his own age and
kind? He was old; so why couldn't he _be_ old?
The talk led--through Cope--to reminiscences of life in Winnebago. Randolph
presently began to feel Lemoyne as a variously yet equivocally gifted young
fellow--one so curiously endowed as to be of no use to his own people, and
of no avail for any career they were able to offer him. A bundle of minor
talents; a possible delight to casual acquaintances, but an exasperation to
his own household; an ornamental skimmer over life's surfaces, when not a
false fire for other young voyagers along life's coasts. Yet Bertram Cope
admired him and had become absorbed in him. Their life in that northern
town, with its fringe of interests--educational, ecclesiastical, artistic
and aquatic--had been intimate, fused to a degree. Randolph began to
realize, for the first time, the difficulties in the way of "cultivating"
Cope.
Pages:
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292