He thought it wonderful that a brain could
think a thing out so clearly and words express thoughts so lucidly.
His eagerness to follow the passing girls with his eyes was gone. He
was interested in the older man's viewpoint. "And what about
children?" he asked.
The older man sat sideways on the bench. There was a troubled look in
his eyes and a suppressed eager quality in his voice. "I'm going to
tell you about that," he said. "I don't want to keep anything back.
"Look here!" he demanded, sliding along the bench toward McGregor and
emphasising his points by slapping one hand down upon the other.
"Ain't all children my children?" He paused, trying to gather his
scattered thoughts into words. When McGregor started to speak he put
his hand up as though to ward off a new thought or another question.
"I'm not trying to dodge," he said. "I'm trying to get thoughts that
have been in my head day after day in shape to tell. I haven't tried
to express them before. I know men and women cling to their children.
It's the only thing they have left of the dream they had before they
married. I felt that way. It held me for a long time. It would be
holding me now only that the violins pulled so hard at me."
He threw up his hand impatiently. "You see I had to find an answer.
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