In the car the grey-haired man of affairs put his head down upon the
back of the seat in front. Half unconscious of his own thoughts his
mind began to dwell upon the figure of his daughter. "Had I been
Margaret I should not have let him go. No matter what the cost I
should have clung to the man," he muttered.
CHAPTER IV
It is difficult not to be of two minds about the manifestation now
called, and perhaps rightly, "The Madness of the Marching Men." In one
mood it comes back to the mind as something unspeakably big and
inspiring. We go each of us through the treadmill of our lives caught
and caged like little animals in some vast menagerie. In turn we love,
marry, breed children, have our moments of blind futile passion and
then something happens. All unconsciously a change creeps over us.
Youth passes. We become shrewd, careful, submerged in little things.
Life, art, great passions, dreams, all of these pass. Under the night
sky the suburbanite stands in the moonlight. He is hoeing his radishes
and worrying because the laundry has torn one of his white collars.
The railroad is to put on an extra morning train. He remembers that
fact heard at the store. For him the night becomes more beautiful. For
ten minutes longer he can stay with the radishes each morning.
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