“No indeed!” I exclaimed earnestly. And indeed I felt as if one could not easily tire of the sweet sadness of that gentle voice.
“It is, that we should learn to take our pleasures quickly, and our pains slowly.”
“But why? I should have put it the other way, myself.”
“By taking artificial pain--which can be as trivial as you please--slowly, the result is that, when real pain comes, however severe, all you need do is to let it go at its ordinary pace, and it's over in a moment!”
“Very true,” I said, “but how about the pleasure?”
“Why, by taking it quick, you can get so much more into life. It takes you three hours and a half to hear and enjoy an opera. Suppose I can take it in, and enjoy it, in half-an-hour. Why, I can enjoy seven operas, while you are listening; to one!”
“Always supposing you have an orchestra capable of playing them,” I said. “And that orchestra has yet to be found!”
The old man smiled. “I have heard an 'air played,” he said, “and by no means a short one--played right through, variations and all, in three seconds!”
“When? And how?” I asked eagerly, with a half-notion that I was dreaming again.
“It was done by a little musical-box,” he quietly replied. “After it had been wound up, the regulator, or something, broke, and it ran down, as I said, in about three seconds. But it must have played all the notes, you know!”
“Did you enjoy it? I asked, with all the severity of a cross-examining barrister.
“No, I didn't!” he candidly confessed. “But then, you know, I hadn't been trained to that kind of music!”
“I should much like to try your plan,” I said, and, as Sylvie and Bruno happened to run up to us at the moment, I left them to keep the Earl company, and strolled along the platform, making each person and event play its part in an extempore drama for my especial benefit. “What, is the Earl tired of you already?” I said, as the children ran past me.
“No!” Sylvie replied with great emphasis. “He wants the evening-paper. So Bruno's going to be a little news-boy!”
“Mind you charge a good price for it!” I called after them.
Returning up the platform, I came upon Sylvie alone. “Well, child,” I said, “where's your little news-boy? Couldn't he get you an evening-paper?”
“He went to get one at the book-stall at the other side,” said Sylvie; “and he's coming across the line with it--oh, Bruno, you ought to cross by the bridge!” for the distant thud, thud, of the Express was already audible.