“Guess there ain’t much more to say. Makes me mad to discuss it anyhow.”
“No need of getting mad at people like that,” said Tony Crews simply and softly. “I think one should laugh at such stupidity.”
“And ridicule it, too,” came from the luxurious person sprawled over the floor, for he did impress Emma Lou as being luxurious, despite the fact that his suit was unpressed, and that he wore neither socks nor necktie. She noticed the many graceful gestures he made with his hands, but wondered why he kept twisting his lips to one side when he talked. Perhaps he was trying to mask the size of his mouth.
Truman was speaking now, “Ridicule will do no good, nor mere laughing at them. I admit those weapons are about the only ones an intelligent person would use, but one must also admit that they are rather futile.”
“Why futile?” Paul queried indolently.
“They are futile,” Truman continued, “because, well, those people cannot help being like they are—their environment has made them that way.”
Miss Thurston muttered something. It sounded like “hooey,” then held out an empty glass. “Give me some more firewater, Alva.” Alva hastened across the room and refilled her glass. Emma Lou wondered what they were talking about. Again Cora broke the
