Argosy, Vol. 123, No. 2 — page 150: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

282 ling darkness lifts him up, holds him aloof —he is sailing through the air, literally un- conscious of the road beneath his wheels. In White Plains itself they slowed, and again in Mt. Kisco. When they rolled up the sharp hill into Brewster and stopped, Jack turned to his companion inquiringly. “ Straight—straight ahead—” were the directions. ' About two miles out, at an obscure fork, they took a little used road and at the top of a hill overlooking a small house—pre- sumably a farmhouse—they stopped. “Put out your lights, and—and wait for me!” There was a little more of decision in the older man’s voice. He took the suitcase from the rear of the car and trudged down toward the house. In the faint light from a moon not quite at its first quarter Jack could see him staggering under the weight. Four, five times he sat down to rest. Finally he arrived at the house and almost a moment later started back up the incline. Five minutes found him back in his seat. “ Of course—” he was puffing, distinctly out of breath—“ you will—say nothing—of this—”’ Jack smiled and started the engine. As he backed around he put on the headlights again. “It’s of no interest to me whatever,” he answered. ‘Shall I take you back to West End Avenue?” “‘ Tf—if you don’t mind—” And, as they reached the main road: “ If—if you could drive just a little slower—” At a normal speed there was no need of keen alertness of every faculty. Somehow, the car always brought Jack back to his past, and his mind wandered to the day of his flight. There had been no ae bys. His work had been at once his mistress and his best friend. In his ambition he had found com- panionship. With his confidence in his own brain processes gone he was like a ship without a helmsman, an athletic team with- out a coach. To him it seemed he must find work where there would be no respon- sibility, a routine position in some place where he was unknown. He had been proud of his success. Now, a failure, pride THE ARGOSY. demanded that he drop from sight, bury himself completely. He landed, in succession, several cleri- cal positions, but was unable to hold one of them. There was nothing to catch his interest. A mind trained to plan huge in- dustrial plants, a mental vision capable of holding a complete modern foundry and shuffling the parts about for the gaining of . the greatest efficiency—such was as un- suited for the adding of totals in a grocery bill, or balancing the petty cash of a bakery, as a multiple web printing press would be for the making of theater tickets. Discouraged, he had a flash of inspira- tion. With his knowledge and experience he belonged in a smelting plant, or a foundry, or an iron or brass works. He saw that he would have to turn to work with his hands, and believed he could rise to a foremanship, a managership. But again he found himself unfitted. The training of his mind had been at the ex- pense of bodily development. versity he had sacrified a fundamental love for athletics to a winning of honors. Even in his professional life he had made sleep - and rest and recreation secondary considera- tions. He lost, one after the other, a dozen jobs. His Phi Beta Kappa key was as use- less as the full dress suit in the bottom of his trunk—more so, in fact, because the lat- ter he pawned eventually. From city to city he drifted, a mental derelict; his view of life and his estimation of himself warped by a stubborn pride. Slowly he hardened, but not sufficiently. Then came the war, and he saw a chance to be of service. He enlisted promptly. In the army he found himself in a new world and in its routine he discovered a place for himself. The scientific training put him in condition, and the basic keen- ness of his mind won him a corporal’s chev- rons in short order. Enthusiastic, he pic- tured the showing his company would make when brought face to face with the enemy. But—one of the inexplicable details in mili- tary management at Washington—his regi- ment was the only regular army infantry unit never to be ordered abroad. The regi- ment was never even mobilized. He “ put in ” for officers’ training camp. DOOK In the uni- C@