Lost trumpet

212
THE LOST TRUMPET
Except that he hasn’t got enough energy to attempt
boring, Colonel Saloney’s a good specimen.”
That, anyway, sir,” remarked young Quaritch
to me, casually and clearly, “is a damned lie.”
I think that Pelagueya, unused to such frontal
attacks from a mere man, was more astonished than
ever before in her life. Huebsch again saved the
situation with his tolerant boom.
“Well, well, Princess. Perhaps it’s as well none
of us have the Lost Trumpet to play about with,
and all the walls that hem us in are still standing.”
“Especially,” I thought aloud, “as not one of us
was sure that he meant what he said.”
“How’s that ?” The boy had taken me under his
protection. I found the others listening with unex¬
pected attention.
“Mr. Huebsch and his Jerusalem—more or less
he believes that that is what he would do. But he
would pause in indecision with the Trumpet in his
hand. So would all of us before we might blow the
Trumpet with the single-mindedness and faith of
Joshua. Saying : T, Anton Saloney, would do thus
and this,’ I lie—or at least may be wildly mistaken.
For, as none of you have ever known your real
selves, I have never known Anton Saloney. He is
hid behind walls of custom and use and reserve and
frustration that tower to heaven.”
“Dr. Adler, sir ?”
I think I was a little nettled at that, but I had
the grace to laugh. Pelagueya touched my knee,
and spoke idle words.