"
"It's a snarl, all right," he said, and almost immediately began
discussing the peculiar _impasse_ in which his difficulty with Tump
had landed him. Cissie sat listening with a serious, almost tragic face,
giving a little nod now and then. Once she remarked in her precise way:
"The trouble with a gentleman fighting a rowdy, the gentleman has all to
lose and nothing to gain. If you don't live among your own class, Peter,
your life will simmer down to an endless diplomacy."
"You mean deceit, I suppose."
"No, I mean diplomacy. But that isn't a very healthy frame of mind,--
always to be suppressing and guarding yourself."
Peter didn't know about that. He was inclined to argue the matter, but
Cissie wouldn't argue. She seemed to assume that all of her statements
were axioms, truths reduced to the simplest possible mental terms, and
that proof was unnecessary, if not impossible. So the topic went into
the discard.
"Been baking my brains over a lot of silly little exam questions,"
complained Peter. "Can you trace the circulation of the blood? I think
it leaves the grand central station through the right aorta, and then,
after a schedule run of nine minutes, you can hear it coming up the
track through the left ventricle, with all the passengers eager to get
off and take some refreshment at the lungs.
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