Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1907-02-14

EA,fE A<St " N6e< " y
M1allments, it's pleasant, comfortable
retrospections; but in real distress-in
the solving of question, the fighting of
dificulty-a pipe is mans eternal
solace.
So he had passed the first night of
his return to the actualities Of life.
Next day his mind was somewhat set
tied, and outward aid was not so essen
tial; but, though facts faced him more
solidly, they We're nevertheless very
drab in shade. The necessity for
work, that blessed antidote to ennui,
no longer forced him to endeavor. He
was no longer penniless, but the money
he possessed brought with it no de
sires. When a man has lived from
hand to mouth for years and sudden
ly finds himself with f100 in his pocket
the result is sometimes curious. He
finds with a vague sense of surprise
that he has forgotten how to spend.
That extravaganza. like other artificial
passions, requires cultivation.
This he realized even more fully OH
the days that followed the night of his
first return. and with it vas born a
new bitterness. The man who has
friends and no money may find life
difficult, but the man who has money
and no friend to rejoice in his fortune
or benefit by his generosity is aloof
indeed. With the leaven of %incredulity
that works in all strong natures. Loder
distrusted the professional beggar;
\ thornforo f1n ,hor;f- {I,f hoc+o,r, 40,
lily and promiscuously was denied him,
and of other channels Of generosity he
was too self contained to have learned
the secret.
When depression falls upon a man
of usually even temperament it de-
scends with q double weight. The
mercurial nature has a hundred coun-
t~erbalancing devices to rid itself of
gloom-a sudden lifting of spirit, a
memory of other moods lived through.
other blacknesses dispersed by time.
but the man of level nature has none
Of these. Depression when it comes
is indeed depression; no phase Of mind
to be superseded by another phase, but
Il s%lackening of all the chords of life.
1t was through such n depression as
this that he labored during three
weeks, while no summons and no hint
Of remembrance came from Chilcote.
His position was peculiarly difficult.
He found no action in the present. and
toward the future he dared not trust
himself to look. He had slipped the
old mornings that familiarity had ren-
dered e~ndurable, but. having slipped
them. he had found no substitute.
the three weeks and such his frame of
mind as he crossed Fleet street from
Clifford's inn to Middle Temple lane.
1t was scarcely Z o'clock. but al
ready the dusk was falling. The great
er press of vehicles had ceased. and
the light of the street lamps gleame |
back from the spaces of dry and polish
ed roadway. worn smooth as a mirror
by wheels and hoofs. Something of the
s%oliture Of night that sits so i'll on tie
strenuous city street was making itself
felt, though the throngs Of people on
the pathway still streamed eastward
and westward. and the taverns made Il
busy trade.
Having crossed the roadway, Loder
paused for a moment to survey the
scene. But humanity in the abstract
made small appeal to him, and bis
glance wandered from the passerSby
to the buildings massed like clouds
against the dark Sky. AS his gaze NOV
ed slowly from one to the other a
clock near at hand struck I. and an III
slant later the chorus was taken up
by a dozen clamorouS tongues. Usually
he scarcely heard and never needed
these innumerable chimes, but this
evening their effect was strange. Com
ing out of the darkness. they seemed
to possess "A personal note. a human
declaration. The impression was fan
tastic. but it was strong. With a
species of revolt against life and his
own personality, he turned slowly and
moved forward in the direction of Lud-
gate hill.
For a space he continued his course,
then, reaching Bouverie street, he turn
ed sharply to the right and made his
way down the slight incline that leads
W tLC CllpollhluS1lt. IleIe lit DduSeu
and drew a long breath. The sense of
space and darkness soothed him. Pull
ing his cap over his eyes. he crossed to
the river and walked on in the direc-
ton of Westminster bridge.
AS he walked the great mass of water
by his side looked dense and smooth as
oil with its sweeping width and network
of reflected light. On its farther bank
rose the tall buildings. the chimneys,
the 1aring lights that suggest another
and an alien London. Close at hand
stretched the solid stone parapet. Civ.
ing assurance Of protection.
All these things he saw with his men
tai eyes, but with his mental eyes only,
for his physical gaze was fixed ahead
where the houses of parliament doomed
out of the dusk. From the great build.
lngs his eyes never wavered until the
embankment was traversed and West
minister bridge reached. Then he paus-
ed, resting his arms on the coping OF