"We cannot for a moment suppose that our own little planet is the only one throughout the whole universe on which may be found the fruits of civilization, warm firesides, friendships, the desire to penetrate the mysteries of creation."
—Simon Newcomb.
There was a smile in those cool grey eyes of his.
"But that is sheer nonsense!" I exclaimed.
Henry Quainfan laughed.
"You think so, Rider?" he said.
"I know so!"
"You are so often sure! But you are wrong, old tillicum; you are wrong!" "Now, look here," said I, "let's get this thing straight. Though competent authorities (among whom, it seems, you are to be numbered) assure me that it is possible, yet this love-at-first-sight business seems to me-"
"There you go!" he smiled. "That isn't what I meant."
I stared at him.
"Elucidate," said I.
"That there is such a thing as love at first sight is, I believe, indisputable. But that isn't what I made reference to; it was to the vision-the mind photograph, as were that the man and the woman in this romance had of each other."
"But everybody has a dream mate," said I, who was becoming more mystified than ever.
"Yes," Henry Quainfan nodded; "but that mate is vague-as the novelist says. That mate can not be described at all. Yes, everyone has a dream mate. But this is the point Rider; can every one tell the color of that dream one's eyes and hair, for instance? I should say not."
"So should I," I told him.
"But to return to this man and woman. They were different; each knew the color of the dream lover's eyes and hair; each had a picture such as you and I have of some person we have known well; it was, indeed, as if they had known each other-had known and loved each other ere they came into this world."
"That is all very well," said I. "It was. But there's something that you forget."
"What?" he asked.
"This: it's only a story."
"Rider," he laughed, "do you know what you are?"
I told him I didn't.
"Pachycephalic." "I'm glad it's nothing worse. But." said I, "proceed with this erotic-I mean.
tommyrosic business."
