David Ormsby also became silent. He thought of his youth in the little
village plough factory, of his efforts to get on in the world, of the
long evenings spent reading books and trying to understand the
movements of men.
"Is there an element in nature and in youth that we do not understand
or that we lose sight of?" he asked. "Are the efforts of the patient
workers of the world always to be abortive? Can some new phase of life
arise suddenly upsetting all of our plans? Do you, can you, think of
men like me as but part of a vast whole? Do you deny to us
individuality, the right to stand forth, the right to work things out
and to control?"
The ploughmaker looked at the huge figure standing beside the tree.
Again he was irritated and kept lighting cigars which after two or
three puffs he threw away. In the bushes at the back of the bench
insects began to sing. The wind coming now in gentle gusts swayed
slowly the branches of the trees overhead.
"Is there an eternal youth in the world, a state out of which men pass
unknowingly, a youth that forever destroys, tearing down what has been
built?" he asked. "Are the mature lives of strong men of so little
account? Have you like the empty fields that bask in the sun in the
summer the right to remain silent in the presence of men who have had
thoughts and have tried to put their thoughts into deeds?"
Still saying nothing McGregor pointed with his finger along the road
that faced the park.
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