megaphone. And we children would yell the prescribed texts after him with all our lung-power. We recalled how our scapegrace, R-13 , used to stuff the priest with chewed paper; every word was thus accompanied by a paper wad shot out. Naturally, R- was punished, for what he did was undoubtedly wrong, but now we laughed heartily;—by we I mean our triangle, R- , O- , and I, I must confess, I too.
“And what if he had been a living one? Like the ancient ones, heh?” We’d have b … b … , a fountain running from the fat bubbling lips. The sun was shining through the ceiling, the sun above, the sun from the sides, its reflection from below. O- on R-13 ’s lap and minute drops of sunlight in O-’s blue eyes. Somehow my heart warmed up. The square-root of minus one became silent and motionless. …
“Well, how is your Integral ? Will you soon hop off to enlighten the inhabitants of the planets? You’d better hurry up, my boy, or we poets will have produced such a devilish lot