A man, in order to get on good terms with himself,
must have his opinions corroborated and his moods matched by some one
else. (I had written that "somebody"; but an A. D. T. boy who once took
a telegram for me pointed out that I could save money by using the
compound word. This is a vice versa case.)
Forster's favorite mood was that of greatly desiring to be a follower of
Chance. He was a Venturer by nature, but convention, birth, tradition
and the narrowing influences of the tribe of Manhattan had denied him
full privilege. He had trodden all the main-traveled thoroughfares and
many of the side roads that are supposed to relieve the tedium of life.
But none had sufficed. The reason was that he knew what was to be found
at the end of every street. He knew from experience and logic almost
precisely to what end each digression from routine must lead. He found a
depressing monotony in all the variations that the music of his sphere
had grafted upon the tune of life. He had not learned that, although the
world was made round, the circle has been squared, and that it's true
interest is to be in "What's Around the Corner."
Forster walked abroad aimlessly from the Powhatan, trying not to tax
either his judgment or his desire as to what streets he traveled.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296