The Centaurians
"Thought you intended to stay for good with Saunders," he told me after the greeting. "What consumed the time? Surely not Saunders! Never mind, tell it to me later. The Centaurians do things in style; my workshop is a great improvement upon the old one, but, confidentially, Virgillius, give me the attic every time; there the ideas came without wasting hours thinking them up. This luxury inspires yawns. I don't see how these people ever made such rapid headway."
And Saxe. was right, the place resembled a lady's boudoir, all silken cushions, soft carpets and rainbow tints.
"But it's pleasant to rest here when I'm tired," he continued. "I don't object to the frippery, it's all in a lifetime. The rear is serious enough."
"And breeches more comfortable, eh, Saxe.?" I nudged him.
"No comparison, my boy!" he replied. "I'm done with petticoats, a man can't do anything in them but try to look pretty. No wonder women spend most of their lives primping, it's the petticoats. I've found a tailor who knows his business. Imagine us returning to our own land rigged up in the sort of thing you've got on! Yes, sir! I feel like Saxlehner now. Sheldon's done the same thing; says the climate of the Ocstas is too arctic for tights."
I decided to don trousers again.
"Yes," Saxe. advised, "bundle the drapery out; it makes you look like the bearded lady. Now for
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