what I mean."

"Not a bit. I think it is very kind of you to worry your head about
an impossible fellow like me. And look here, Mary, I have done some
dreaming in my time, it is true, for so far the world has been a place
of tribulation to me, and it is sick hearts that dream. But I mean to
give it up, for I know as well as you do that there is only one end to
all these systems of mysticism." Mary looked up.

"I mean," he went on, correcting himself, "to the mad attempt unduly and
prematurely to cultivate our spiritual natures that we may live to and
for them, and not to and for our natural bodies."

"Exactly my argument, put into long words," said Mary. "There will
be plenty of time for that when we get down among those old gentlemen
yonder--a year or two hence, you know. Meanwhile, let us take the world
as we find it. It isn't a bad place, after all, at times, and there are
several things worth doing for those who are not too lazy.

"Good-bye, I must be off; my bicycle is there against the railings.
Oh, how I hate that machine! Now, listen, Morris; do you want to do
something really useful, and earn the blessings of an affectionate
relative? Then invent a really reliable electrical bike, that would look
nice and do all the work, so that I could sit on it comfortably and get
to a place without my legs aching as though I had broken them, and a red
face, and no breath left in my body."

"I will think about it," he said; "indeed, I have thought of it already
but the accumulators are the trouble."