But you take my tip, and hobnob with the working man. We must bestir
ourselves and impell ourselves, what the devil! As for me, I've
finished my political efforts for peace and order. It's _your_ turn!"

He is right. Looking at the ageing man, I note that his framework is
slightly bowed; that his ill-shaven cheeks are humpbacked with little
ends of hair turning into white crystals. In his lowly sphere he has
done his duty. I reflect upon the mite-like efforts of the unimportant
people; of the mountains of tasks performed by anonymity. They are
necessary, these hosts of people so closely resembling each other; for
cities are built upon the poor brotherhood of paving-stones.

He is right, as always. I, who am still young; I, who am on a higher
level than his; I must play a part, and subdue the desire one has to
let things go on as they may.

A sudden movement of will appears in my life, which otherwise proceeds
as usual.




CHAPTER VI

A VOICE IN THE EVENING


I approached the workpeople with all possible sympathy. The toiler's
lot, moreover, raises interesting problems, which one should seek to
understand. So I inform myself in the matter of those around me.