to please the crowd and Dos Passos to annoy it. And such sophisticated souls as were delighted with Three Soldiers were delighted merely because the crowd was annoyed. An artist, she said to herself, would leave this crowd indifferent.
She closed her eyes again . . . and lighted a fresh cigarette. As she exhaled the first ring of smoke a fable related by Babbalanja in Herman Melville's marvellous Mardi came into her mind: Midni was of opinion that daylight was vulgar; good enough for taro-planting and travelling, but wholly unadapted to the sublime ends of study. He toiled by night; from sunset to sunrise poring over the works of the old logicians. Like most philosophers, Midni was an amiable man; but one thing invariably put him out. He read in the woods by glow-worm light; insect in hand, tracing over his pages, line by line. But glow-worms burn not long: and in the midst of some calm intricate thought, at some imminent comma, the insect often expired, and Midni groped for a meaning. Upon such an occasion, Ho, Ho, he cried; but for one instant of sunlight to see my way to a period! But sunlight there was none; so Midni sprang to his feet, and parchment under arm, raced about among the sloughs and bogs for another glow-worm. Often, making a rapid descent with his turban, he thought he had caged a prize; but nay. Again he tried; yet with no better success. Nevertheless, at last he secured one, but hardly had he read three lines
