of course there had been nothing out of the way about the meeting, nothing particularly extraordinary about the conversation, for all that corin, in spite of terming the matter simple, was convinced of its depth. yet, in some inexplicable way, it was a momentous meeting to david. and the kernel of the whole thing lay, neither in what corin had said, nor in what he had said, but somehow in his own unspoken thoughts during the conversation.

i don’t believe he could have put the actual thoughts into words. he could not even formulate them very distinctly in his own mind, but all the same there had been a curious crystallizing process going on within him. little half-formed thoughts, tiny almost insignificant incidents of the past ten days, had drawn together with a strange magnetic [pg 289]attraction into a concrete whole, though he was not, even now, fully aware what that concrete whole represented to him.

but there it was, a tangible, definite something awaiting explanation. he could handle it now, so to speak, without knowing to what purpose it was to be put; it was massed together, where formerly it had been mere particles, each too minute and separate to be caught and fingered. yet, lying where it did, in the inmost recesses of his soul, the question was whether he could ever bring it sufficiently to the surface to show it to another, and he believed that, without some external aid, he would never arrive at its full significance.

those who possess the gift of words are truly to be envied. with a few brief sentences they are able to elicit sympathy, criticism, judgment, understanding, whatever their need may be. the dumb dog is helpless. at the best, he has but a few stammering phrases to his tongue, perhaps but an inarticulate word or two, often no word at all.

you can’t blame his fellow mortals if they fail to understand his need: it is given to few to interpret the language of the mute.