The trembling consciousness prevailed that
he might at any moment descend again, wrapped in that inexplicable
atmosphere of loftier meanings.
Still, Tiverton was glad to put the question by, for she had enough to
do. The celebration knocked at the door, and no one was ready. Only
Brad Freeman, always behindhand, save at some momentary exigency of rod
or gun, was fulfilling the prophecy that the last shall be first. For
he had, out of the spontaneity of genius, elected to do one deed for
that great day, and his work was all but accomplished. In public
conclave assembled to discuss the parade, he had offered to make an
elephant, to lead the van. Tiverton roared, and then, finding him
gravely silent, remained, with gaping mouth, to hear his story. It
seemed, then, that Brad had always cherished one dear ambition. He
would fain fashion an elephant; and having never heard of Frankenstein,
he lacked anticipation of the dramatic finale likely to attend a
meddling with the creative powers. He did not confess, save once to his
own wife, how many nights he had lain awake, in their little dark
bedroom, planning the anatomy of the eastern lord; he simply said that
he "wanted to make the critter," and he thought he could do it.
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