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Then he
peered skyward, into the noonday zenith; into an ocean of blue,
immeasurable. There was no end to this azure liquid. Gazing thus, his
intelligence became aware of the fact that there are skies of different
kinds. This one was not quite like his native firmament. Here was no
suggestion of a level space overhead, remote, but still conceivable--a
space whereon some god might have sat enthroned, note-book in hand,
jotting down men's virtues, and vices, and what not. A sky of this kind
was obviously not built to accommodate deities in a sitting posture.
Instead of commenting on this simple observation he remarked:
"I mean, whether one should publicly approve of van Koppen's ladies,
supposing they exist."
"Why should I approve or disapprove? Old Koppen's activities do not
impinge on mine. Like a sensible fellow he cultivates a hobby. He
indulges himself. Why interfere? Tell me, why should I disapprove of
things?"
"Look here, Keith! Not long ago you were disapproving of vertical
gods.


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