nternational
merely. They were cosmic in scope.

The War? Peace? Disarmament? China? Free love? Mere conversational
bubbles to be tossed in the air and disposed of in a burst of foam.
Strong meat for old man Minick who had so long been fed on pap. But he
soon got used to it. Between four and five in the afternoon, in a spot
known as Under The Willows, the meeting took the form of a club--an open
forum. A certain group made up of Socialists, Free Thinkers, parlour
anarchists, bolshevists, had for years drifted there for talk. Old man
Minick learned high-sounding phrases. "The Masters ... democracy ...
toil of the many for the good of the few ... the ruling class ... free
speech ... the People...."

The strong-minded ones held forth. The weaker ones drifted about on the
outskirts, sometimes clinging to the moist and sticky paw of a
round-eyed grandchild. Earlier in the day--at eleven o'clock, say--the
talk was not so general nor so inclusive. The old men were likely to
drift into groups of two or three or four. They sat on sun-bathed
benches and their conversation was likely to be rather smutty at times,
for all they looked so mild and patriarchal and desiccated. They paid
scant heed to the white-haired old women who, like themselves, were
sunning in the park. They watched the young women switch by, with
appreciative glances at their trim figures and slim ankles. The day of
the short skirt was a grand time for them. They chuckled among
themselves and made wicked comment. One saw only white-haired, placid,
tremulous old men, but their minds still worked with belated masculinity
like naughty small boys talking behind the barn.

Old man Minick early achieved a certain leadership in the common talk.
He had always liked to hold forth. This last year had been one of almost
unendurable bottling up. At first he had timidly sought the less
assertive ones of his kind. Mild old men who sat in rockers in the
pavilion waiting for lunch time. Their conversation irritated him. They
remarked everything that passed before their eyes.

"There's a boat. Fella with a boat."

A silence. Then, heavily: "Yeh."

Five minutes.

"Look at those people laying on the grass. Shouldn't think it was warm
enough for that.... Now they're getting up."

A group of equestrians passed along the bridle path on the opposite side
of the lagoon. They made a frieze against the delicate spring greenery.
The coats of the women were scarlet, vivid green, ar