He is an intense, energetic man of wiry build who dresses in a casual yet elegant manner. As he shifts the position of his arms and legs on the couch, there is something unmistakably spiderlike in the movements. For all his politeness, he cannot mask the impression that his mind is racing far ahead of his rapidly spoken words. The elder Lomax was primarily a songhunter. His first collection, Cowboy Songs, was published in 1910. It contained such gems as "John Henry," "Shenandoah" and "Home on the Range," which he heard for the first time in the back of a saloon in the Negro red light district of San Antonio. "Ay, sir," was the reply. 鈥淚 wish you had told me something of this before,鈥?said Martin, 鈥渂ecause I鈥檝e been feeling myself the happiest man. . . .鈥? 欧美av - 97人人模人人爽人人喊 No genuine hero of romance should have hesitated for a moment. Nothing should have cajoled or frightened him into telling tales out of school. Ernest thought of his ideal boys: they, he well knew, would have let their tongues be cut out of them before information could have been wrung from any word of theirs. But Ernest was not an ideal boy, and he was not strong enough for his surroundings; I doubt how far any boy could withstand the moral pressure which was brought to bear upon him; at any rate he could not do so, and after a little more writhing he yielded himself a passive prey to the enemy. He consoled himself with the reflection that his papa had not played the confidence trick on him quite as often as his mamma had, and that probably it was better he should tell his father, than that his father should insist on Dr. Skinner鈥檚 making an enquiry. His papa鈥檚 conscience 鈥渏abbered鈥?a good deal, but not as much as his mamma鈥檚. The little fool forgot that he had not given his father as many chances of betraying him as he had to Christina. She laughed. 鈥淒on鈥檛 be silly鈥攜ou think wallowing in the family trough is the height of bliss. It isn鈥檛. I would sooner starve than go back. At any rate I should be myself, a separate entity, an individual. Oh, that being merely a bit of clotted family! How I should hate it!鈥? BEHOLD Martin, the professor, transformed into the perfect waiter鈥攑erfect, at least, in zeal, manner and habiliment. His dress suit, of ardent cut but practically unworn, gave the salle-脿-manger an air of startling refinement and prosperity. At first Bigourdin, embarrassed by the shifting of the relative position, had deprecated this outer symbol of servitude. A man could wait in a lounge suit just as well as in a tail-coat鈥攁 proposition which Fortinbras vehemently controverted. He read his perplexed brother-in-law a lecture on the psychology of clothes. They had a spiritual significance, bringing subjective and objective into harmony. A judge could not devote his whole essence to the administration of justice if he were conscious of being invested in the glittering guise of a harlequin. If Martin wore the tweeds of the tourist he would feel inharmonious with his true waiter-self, and therefore could not wait with the perfect waiter鈥檚 spiritual deftness. Besides, he had not counselled his disciple to wait as an amateur. The way of the amateur was perdition. No, when Martin threw his napkin under his left arm, he should flick a bit of his heart into its folds, like a true professional. He studied the credentials each man had handed him on arrival. There was Tyruss, from Regina. There was Farlan, an astrogator from the Rebel defenses in the Strymon Canals, and there was Aron, who had just arrived, a space engineer from the Hadriacum front. There were Stein, an astrogator, and Wessfeld, an engineer, who had come together in one groundcar from Charax. CHAPTER XII.