"Here, you pagan, you, you stolid and flesh-fettered ox, you monstrosity of over-weening and perennial health and joy, what do you think of it?" Hall demanded.
"Oh, I've had my troubles," Billy answered, speaking in his wonted slow way. "I've had my hard times, an' fought a losin' strike, an' soaked my watch, an' ben unable to pay my rent or buy grub, an' slugged scabs, an' ben slugged, and ben thrown into jail for makin' a fool of myself. If I get you, I'd be a whole lot better to be a swell hog fattenin' for market an' nothin' worryin', than to be a guy sick to his stomach from not savvyin' how the world is made or from wonderin' what's the good of anything."
"That's good, that prize hog," the poet laughed. "Least irritation, least effort--a compromise of Nirvana and life.
Least irritation, least effort, the ideal existence: a jellyfish floating in a tideless, tepid, twilight sea."
"But you're missin' all the good things," Billy objected.
"Name them," came the challenge.
Billy was silent a moment. To him life seemed a large and generous thing. He felt as if his arms ached from inability to compass it all, and he began, haltingly at first, to put his feeling into speech.
"If you'd ever stood up in the ring an' out-gamed an' out-fought a man as good as yourself for twenty rounds, you'd get what I'm drivin' at. Jim Hazard an' I get it when we swim out through the surf an' laugh in the teeth of the biggest breakers that ever pounded the beach, an' when we come out from the shower, rubbed down and dressed, our skin an' muscles like silk, our bodies an' brains all a-tinglin' like silk...."
He paused and gave up from sheer inability to express ideas that were nebulous at best and that in reality were remembered sensations.
"Silk of the body, can you beat it?" he concluded lamely, feeling that he had failed to make his point, embarrassed by the circle of listeners.
"We know all that," Hall retorted. "The lies of the flesh.
Afterward come rheumatism and diabetes. The wine of life is heady, but all too quickly it turns to--"
"Uric acid," interpolated the wild Irish playwright.
"They's plenty more of the good things," Billy took up with a sudden rush of words. "Good things all the way up from juicy porterhouse and the kind of coffee Mrs. Hall makes to..." He hesitated at what he was about to say, then took it at a plunge.
"To a woman you can love an' that loves you. Just take a look at Saxon there with the ukulele in her lap. There's where I got the jellyfish in the dishwater an' the prize hog skinned to death."
A shout of applause and great hand-clapping went up from the girls, and Billy looked painfully uncomfortable.
"But suppose the silk goes out of your body till you creak like a rusty wheelbarrow?" Hall pursued. "Suppose, just suppose, Saxon went away with another man. What then?"
Billy considered a space.
"Then it'd be me for the dishwater an' the jellyfish, I guess."
He straightened up in his chair and threw back his shoulders unconsciously as he ran a hand over his biceps and swelled it.
Then he took another look at Saxon. "But thank the Lord I still got a wallop in both my arms an' a wife to fill 'em with love."
Again the girls applauded, and Mrs. Hall cried:
"Look at Saxon! She blushing! What have you to say for yourself?"
"That no woman could be happier," she stammered, "and no queen as proud. And that--"
She completed the thought by strumming on the ukulele and singing:
"De Lawd move in or mischievous way His blunders to perform."
"I give you best," Hall grinned to Billy.
"Oh, I don't know," Billy disclaimed modestly. "You've read so much I guess you know more about everything than I do."
"Oh! Oh!" "Traitor!" "Taking it all back!" the girls cried variously.
Billy took heart of courage, reassured them with a slow smile, and said:
"Just the same I'd sooner be myself than have book indigestion.
An' as for Saxon, why, one kiss of her lips is worth more'n all the libraries in the world."
