THE SIX PHILOSOPHERS.
and trailing stick, and he did not answer at all.
"Wake up, Professor!" said Syme genially. "Tell us what you think of Sunday."
The Professor spoke at last very slowly.
"I think something," he said, "that I cannot say clearly. Or, rather, I think something that I cannot even think clearly. But it is something like this. My early life, as you know, was a bit too large and loose. Well, when I saw Sunday's face I thought it was too large—everybody does, but I also thought it was too loose. The face was so big, that one couldn't focus it or make it a face at all. The eye was so far away from the nose, that it wasn't an eye. The mouth was so much by itself, that one had to think of it by itself. The whole thing is too hard to explain."
He paused for a little, still trailing his stick, and then went on—
"But put it this way. Walking up a road at night, I have seen a lamp and a lighted window and a cloud make together a most complete and
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