the whole play moved across his vision in flaming images of beauty, truth and loveliness, his spirit rose on the powerful wings of a jubilant conviction, a tremendous happiness, his heart beat like a hammer-stroke and seemed to ring against his ribs with every blow the music of this certitude.
It took him about two hours to read the play: when he finished he felt a sense of triumphant finality, an immense and joyful peace within him, and he waited for them to speak. For a moment there was utter stillness: Joel sat bent forward in the same position, his head supported by his lean hand; Rosalind sat quietly; neither moved an inch. In a moment Joel spoke, nodding his head and speaking with a kind of matter-of-fact assertiveness that was far more wonderful and thrilling than any idolatrous warmth of praise could have been:
“Yes,” he whispered, nodding his head thoughtfully, —“it’s as good as The Cherry Orchard—I like it better, myself—but it’s as good.” His manner now did take on an electric energy: he straightened sharply, and speaking almost sternly, with a blazing earnestness of conviction, he looked his friend in the eyes, and cried: “Eugene!… It’s simply magnificent!… It’s easily the greatest play anyone in this country ever wrote…. There’s nothing else to touch it… it’s miles ahead of O’Neill… it’s… it’s as good as Cyrano, and you’ve got to admit,” he said, nodding his head decisively, “… that’s pretty great…. Cyrano’s pretty swell,” he whispered, “… And those scenes between the boy and the old’Major’… they’re simply grand,” he whispered. “I mean, I didn’t know you had it in you… that kind of writing, the satiric kind…. But it’s… it’s,” his face flushed, he nodded his head doggedly, and almost grimly, as if willing to stand up for his conviction against the whole world, “it’s… it’s as good as Shaw!” And he laughed suddenly his radiant, soundless laugh and whispered drolly, “… And when I say anything’s as good as Shaw… you’ve got to admit that’s going pretty far for me…. Ros’,” he said quietly, turning to the girl, “what do you think?… Don’t you think it’s pretty grand?”
For a moment she did not answer; her eyes were luminous as stars and far away.
“Oh,” she said presently in her low and sweet and lovely young voice, “it’s wonderful…. It’s the most gloriously beautiful thing I ever heard…. Darling,” she said, and took his hand between her strong, warm
