Young Stephen looked at them, puzzled for an instant, then with a shout
he would have acclaimed his father, but his gaze was suddenly arrested by
the intense blueness of Mr. Zanti's clothes. He stared at it, fascinated.
Into his life there had suddenly broken the revelation that you might
have something far larger than the blue ball that moved and shone in so
fascinating a manner. His eyes immediately glittered with the thought that
he would presently have the joy of rolling something so big and shining
along the floor. He could not bear to wait. His fat fingers curved in the
air with the eager anticipation of it--words, actual words had not as yet
come to him, but, crowing and gurgling, he informed the world that he
wanted, he demanded, instantly, that he should roll Mr. Zanti.
"Well, old man, how are you?" said Peter. But he would not look at his
father. His arms stretched toward Mr. Zanti.
"You've made a conquest right away, Zanti," Peter said laughing.
It was indeed instantly to be perceived that Mr. Zanti was in his right
element. Any pretence of any kind of age fell away from him, his arms
curved towards young Stephen as young Stephen's curved towards him. He was
making noises in his throat that exactly resembled the noises that the baby
made.
He looked down gravely upon the chair--"'Ow do you do?" he said and he took
young Stephen's fat fingers in his hand.
Pages:
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517