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- seen. It needed the optical sight of such a man to believe in the
possibility of his existence."
"You rather like him, then," said Standard, with ironical dryness.
"I hugely love and admire him, Standard. I wish I were Hautboy."
"Ah? That's a pity now. There's only one Hautboy in the world."
This last remark set me to pondering again, and somehow it revived my
dark mood.
"His wonderful cheerfulness, I suppose," said I, sneering with spleen,
"originates not less in a felicitous fortune than in a felicitous
temper. His great good sense is apparent; but great good sense may
exist without sublime endowments. Nay, I take it, in certain cases,
that good sense is simply owing to the absence of those. Much more,
cheerfulness. Unpossessed of genius, Hautboy is eternally blessed."
"Ah? You would not think him an extraordinary genius then?"
"Genius? What! Such a short, fat fellow a genius! Genius, like Cassius,
is lank."
"Ah? But could you not fancy that Hautboy might formerly have had
genius, but luckily getting rid of it, at last fatted up?"
"For a genius to get rid of his genius is as impossible as for a man in
the galloping consumption to get rid of that."
"Ah? You speak very decidedly."
"Yes, Standard," cried I, increasing in spleen, "your cheery Hautboy,
after all, is no pattern, no lesson for you and me. With average
abilities; opinions clear, because circumscribed; passions docile,
because they are feeble; a temper hilarious, because he was born to
it--how can your Hautboy be made a reasonable example to a heady fellow
like you, or an ambitious dreamer like me? Nothing tempts him beyond
common limit; in himself he has nothing to restrain. By constitution
he is exempted from all moral harm. Could ambition but prick him; had
he but once heard applause, or endured contempt, a very different man
would your Hautboy be. Acquiescent and calm from the cradle to the
grave, he obviously slides through the crowd."
"Ah?"
"Why do you say _ah_ to me so strangely whenever I speak?"
"Did you ever hear of Master Betty?"
"The great English prodigy, who long ago ousted the Siddons and
the Kembles from Drury Lane, and made the whole town run mad with
acclamation?"
"The same," said Standard, once more inaudibly drumming on the slab.
I looked at him perplexed. He seemed to be holding the master-key of
our theme in mysterious reserve; seemed to be throwing out his Master
Betty too, to puzzle me only the more.
"What under heaven can Master Betty, the great genius and prodigy, an
English boy twelve years old, have to do with the poor commonplace
plodder Hautboy, an American of forty?"
"Oh, nothing in the least. I don't imagine that they ever saw each
other. Besides, Master Betty must be dead and buried long ere this."
"Then why cross the ocean, and rifle the grave to drag his remains into
this living discussion?"
"Absent-mindedness, I suppose. I humbly beg pardon. Proceed with your
observations on Hautboy. You think he never had genius, quite too
contented and happy, and fat for that--ah? You think him no pattern for
men in general? affording no lesson of value to neglected merit, genius
ignored, or impotent presumption rebuked?--all of which three amount to
much the same thing. You admire his cheerfulness, while scorning his
commonplace soul. Poor Hautboy, how sad that your very cheerfulness
should, by a by-blow, bring you despite!"
"I don't say I scorn him; you are unjust. I simply declare that he is
no pattern for me."
A sudden noise at my side attracted my ear. Turning, I saw Hautboy
again, who very blithely reseated himself on the chair he had left.
"I was behind time with my engagement," said Hautboy, "so thought I
would run back and rejoin you. But come, you have sat long enough here.
Let us go to my rooms. It is only five minutes' walk."
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- Chunk 11