Imagining all what?”
“What I mean,” said Eugene, “is, are we here talking together, or not?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Ben.
“How should I know?”
With a strong rustle of marble and a cold sigh of weariness, the angel nearest Eugene moved her stone foot and lifted her arm to a higher balance.
The slender lily stipe shook stiffly in her elegant cold fingers.
“Did you see that?” Eugene cried excitedly.
“Did I see what?” said Ben, annoyed.
“Th-th-that angel there!” Eugene chattered, pointing with a trembling finger.
“Did you see it move?
It lifted its arm.”
“What of it?” Ben asked irritably.
“It has a right to, hasn’t it?
You know,” he added with biting sarcasm, “there’s no law against an angel lifting its arm if it wants to.”
“No, I suppose not,” Eugene admitted slowly, after a moment.
“Only, I’ve always heard —”
“Ah!
Do you believe all you hear, fool?” Ben cried fiercely.
“Because,” he added more calmly, in a moment, drawing on his cigarette, “you’re in a bad way if you do.”
There was again silence while they smoked.
Then Ben said:
“When are you leaving, ‘Gene?”
“To-morrow,” Eugene answered.
“Do you know why you are going, or are you just taking a ride on the train?”
“I know!
Of course — I know why I’m going!” Eugene said angrily, confused.
He stopped abruptly, bewildered, chastened.
Ben continued to scowl at him.
Then, quietly, with humility, Eugene said:
“No, Ben.
I don’t know why I’m going.
Perhaps you’re right.
Perhaps I just want a ride on the train.”
“When are you coming back, ‘Gene?” said Ben.
“Why — at the end of the year, I think,” Eugene answered.
“No,” said Ben, “you’re not.”
“What do you mean, Ben?” Eugene said, troubled.
“You’re not coming back, ‘Gene,” said Ben softly.
“Do you know that?”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” said Eugene,
“I know it.”
“Why aren’t you coming back?” said Ben.
Eugene caught fiercely at the neckband of his shirt with a clawed hand.
“I want to go!
Do you hear!” he cried.
“Yes,” said Ben.
“So did I.
Why do you want to go?”
“There’s nothing here for me,” Eugene muttered.