"
McGregor turned and ran down the remaining steps to the stone sidewalk
and went rapidly up the street. A stern hard look was in his face and
he knew he would spend a silent night thinking of what had happened.
"I hate hitting boys," he thought as he hurried away to his evening's
work at the restaurant.
CHAPTER III
When McGregor was admitted to the bar and ready to take his place
among the thousands of young lawyers scattered over the Chicago loop
district he half drew back from beginning the practice of his
profession. To spend his life quibbling over trifles with other
lawyers was not what he wanted. To have his place in life fixed by his
ability in quibbling seemed to him hideous.
Night after night he walked alone in the streets thinking of the
matter. He grew angry and swore. Sometimes he was so stirred by the
meaninglessness of whatever way of life offered itself that he was
tempted to leave the city and become a tramp, one of the hordes of
adventurous dissatisfied souls who spend their lives drifting back and
forth along the American railroads.
He continued to work in the South State Street restaurant that got its
patronage from the underworld. In the evenings from six until twelve
trade was quiet and he sat reading books and watching the restless
thrashing crowds that passed the window.
Pages:
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166