down--his sister, his sister's house and family, Jim the apprentice,
everybody he knew, every tie of life. Existence did not taste good in
his mouth. Up to then he had accepted existence, as he had lived it with
all about him, as a good thing. He had never questioned it, except when
he read books; but then, they were only books, fairy stories of a fairer
and impossible world. But now he had seen that world, possible and real,
with a flower of a woman called Ruth in the midmost centre of it; and
thenceforth he must know bitter tastes, and longings sharp as pain, and
hopelessness that tantalized because it fed on hope.

He had debated between the Berkeley Free Library and the Oakland Free
Library, and decided upon the latter because Ruth lived in Oakland. Who
could tell?--a library was a most likely place for her, and he might see
her there. He did not know the way of libraries, and he wandered through
endless rows of fiction, till the delicate-featured French-looking girl
who seemed in charge, told him that the reference department was
upstairs. He did not know enough to ask the man at the desk, and began
his adventures in the philosophy alcove. He had heard of book
philosophy, but had not imagined there had been so much written about it.
The high, bulging shelves of heavy tomes humbled him and at the same time
stimulated him. Here was work for the vigor of his brain. He found
books on trigonometry in the mathematics section, and ran the pages, and
stared at the meaningless formulas and figures. He could read English,
but he saw there an alien speech. Norman and Arthur knew that speech. He
had heard them talking it. And they were her brothers. He left the
alcove in despair. From every side the books seemed to press upon him
and crush him.

He had never dreamed that the fund of human knowledge bulked so big. He
was frightened. How could his brain ever master it all? Later, he