He falls into profound meditation again. He considers himself
miserable. He is, in fact, happy, if absence of dreadful pain and
turmoil be a human blessing. At last his eye lights up, and the heavy
face grows cheerful.

"I will go to Chicago!" he says.




CHAPTER III

BEFORE THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE

Robert Chalmers is in Chicago this morning of the dedication, and has
slept well. He tossed in his bed at New York. He snores at the
Western inn.

He asks himself why this is so, and his logic tells him that nature
hopes to re-establish him as David Lockwin. There is a programme in
such a course. At New York there was neither chart nor compass. It
was like the Africa in mid-sea, foundering.

Now Robert Chalmers is nearing land. And the land is David Lockwin.
The welcoming shore is the old life of respectability. Banish the
difficulties! They will evaporate. Listen to the bands, and the
marching of troops!

He goes to the window. The intent of these ceremonies smites him and