Syme poured himself out another glass of wine, and began to study
the scheme. He was abnormally quick with his brains at puzzles,
and with his hands at conjuring, and it did not take him long to
learn how he might convey simple messages by what would seem to
be idle taps upon a table or knee. But wine and companionship had
always the effect of inspiring him to a farcical ingenuity, and
the Professor soon found himself struggling with the too vast
energy of the new language, as it passed through the heated brain
of Syme.
"We must have several word-signs," said Syme seriously--"words that
we are likely to want, fine shades of meaning. My favourite word is
'coeval'. What's yours?"
"Do stop playing the goat," said the Professor plaintively. "You
don't know how serious this is."
"'Lush' too," said Syme, shaking his head sagaciously, "we must
have 'lush'--word applied to grass, don't you know?"
"Do you imagine," asked the Professor furiously, "that we are going
to talk to Dr. Bull about grass?"
"There are several ways in which the subject could be approached,"
said Syme reflectively, "and the word introduced without appearing
forced. We might say, 'Dr. Bull, as a revolutionist, you remember
that a tyrant once advised us to eat grass; and indeed many of us,
looking on the fresh lush grass of summer"'
"Do you understand," said the other, "that this is a tragedy?"
"Perfectly," replied Syme; "always be comic in a tragedy. What
the deuce else can you do? I wish this language of yours had a
wider scope. I suppose we could not extend it from the fingers
to the toes? That would involve pulling off our boots and socks
during the conversation, which however unobtrusively performed--"
"Syme," said his friend with a stern simplicity, "go to bed!"
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