“No, he may think better than we do. Brains are not much good to think with—they’re too much like electric burglar alarms.” “Do you think Horatio sees?” “I don’t know, but I suppose that an eye is the least part of sight.” “If he has better eyes than ours, does he see only atoms?” “More likely colors that we can’t imagine.” “Why, you believe it just as much as I do!” “No, I am just saying perhaps.” “Well, I’m sure about it. I just know he holds the earth off at arm’s length, and sees it all showery blue or billowy white. He sees it spin with a sunset edge. Even battle smoke doesn’t look ugly then.” “No.” “And sometimes he blows the clouds away and gets the atmosphere. It is full of voices that can’t be heard so far—at least I hope he never hears me crying. But I hope he gets my sweet familiar thrushes, my sweet birds antheming the morn. Do you think I’m crazy?” “Far from it.” “And you don’t mind my using poetry words?” “I love your poetry words. Please go on.” “Why, there isn’t any end to going on. The earth is so beautiful that it makes me cry. When he was on the ocean, I just wouldn’t think about the submarines. I thought about the waters at their priestlike task of pure ablution round earth’s human shores. If he had to be drowned, he would still be drowned in beauty.” “Yes,” said Marvin, his voice barely breathing. He dared not look up, for he knew that the triumphantly modeled lips were quivering, and the forgetmenot eyes were full of tears. But presently she laughed them away. “I don’t know why I am talking like this to a stranger.” “It’s because he’s been waiting for you.” “You mustn’t say nice things, Mr. Soldier. But there’s one question that’s harder than any to answer. I never dared ask it of any human being—it sounds so coarse.” “No question of yours,” said Marvin steadily, “could be coarse.” “Well, then, do you think that Horatio has the sense of smell?” “Yes, that is, if he has the other senses. But think how few are the odors that we sense—just the spicy, flowery, fruity, resinous, foul, and scorched.” “It’s awfully brave of you to think that, and not make fun of me. If I were an angel I should just love to hold the earth to my nose and smell the sweet-breathing brier. That’s eglantine, you know.” “I know, but the odor is evanescent.” “So are all the woodland odors.” “No. I’ve found one that will last.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Are you a poet?” “Far from it. I’m a business man. It’s a wonder I’m here at all instead of a few miles east, at Sudbury. I might have been sent there to buy nickel.” Chapter 29. Copper She made no reply. Overhead the turbulent updrafts fiercely united the drops of rain, disrupted them, reunited them and again disrupted them, and let them fall with heavy positive charges. The little storm was at its height. Marvin felt dimly that something was wrong. The swift sweet interchange of thought had ceased.