We fetched that mud for two miles
to make that. And look at that wicker bucket. Isn't it
great? Hardly leaks at all except through the sides, and
perhaps a little through the bottom. _She_ wove that.
She's a humdinger at weaving."
He was moving about as he spoke, showing me all his little
belongings. He reminded me for all the world of a man in
a Harlem flat, showing a visitor how convenient it all
is. Somehow, too, the Cave-man had lost all appearance
of size. He looked, in fact, quite little, and when he
had pushed his long hair back from his forehead he seemed
to wear that same, worried, apologetic look that we all
have. To a higher being, if there is such, our little
faces one and all appear, no doubt, pathetic.
I knew that he must be speaking about his wife.
"Where is she?" I asked.
"My wife?" he said. "Oh, she's gone out somewhere through
the caves with the kid. You didn't meet our kid as you
came along, did you? No? Well, he's the greatest boy you
even saw. He was only two this nineteenth of August. And
you should hear him say 'Pop' and 'Mom' just as if he
was grown up. He is really, I think, about the brightest
boy I've ever known--I mean quite apart from being his
father, and speaking of him as if he were anyone else's
boy.
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