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Flint, Homer Eon, 1892-1924

"The Devolutionist and the Emancipatrix"

Such was the racket no one noticed the sound of the wings.
"Shall we attack those on the edge of the crowd?" one of Supreme's
lieutenants wanted to know. The commandant considered this with all
the force of what mental experience she had had.
"No," she decided. "We shall wait a little longer. Just now, they
are too jubilant to be frightened; we would have to kill them all,
and that would not be good policy." Of course, the bee had the
pollen crop, nothing more, in mind when she made her decision; yet
it was further justified. There was no let-up in the rejoicing; if
anything, it became more frantic than before. Darkness fell upon a
crowd which was reeling in self-induced mental intoxication.
Rolla and Cunora came a little nearer; and still remaining hidden,
saw that more than half their friends had succumbed. One by one the
remainder dropped out; their forms lay all about what was left of
the fire. The two women could easily see what their friends were
blind to: the bees were simply biding their time.


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