When real thought gets across the border, it is
often indefinite, sometimes mere drivel. Such answers as come from
the void are usually disappointing, no matter how expert our
mediums may be in communicating with the dead."
"The dead! Did you say--the dead?"
"Certainly; the dead. Are you not of the dead?"
Watson shook his head emphatically.
"Absolutely not! Not where I came from. We are all very much
alive!"
The other watched him curiously, his great eyes glowing with
enthusiasm; the enthusiasm of the born seeker of the truth.
"You don't mean," he asked, "that you have the same passions that
we have here in life?"
"I mean," said Watson, "that we hate, love, swear; we are good and
we are evil; and we play games and go fishing."
Geos rubbed his hands in a dignified sort of glee. What had been
said coincided, apparently, with another of his pet theories.
"It is splendid," he exulted, "splendid! And just in line with my
thesis. You shall tell it before the Council of the Rhamdas. It
will be the greatest day since the speaking of the Jarados!"
Watson wondered just who this Jarados might be; but for the moment
he went back to the previous question.
"This Rhamda Avec: you were about to tell me about him. Let me
have as much as I can understand, sir."
"Ah, yes! The great Rhamda Avec. Perhaps you may recall him when
your mind clears a little more.
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