services had been greatly desired he could not have given them for
long. He could not have stood that place. This was a new phase of his
mental condition. Work almost anywhere in Middleville would be like
that in Manton's. Could he stand work at all, not only in a physical
sense, but in application of mind? He began to worry about that.

Some one hailed Lane, and he turned to recognize an old
acquaintance--Matt Jones. They walked along the street together,
meeting other men who knew Lane, some of whom greeted him heartily.
Then, during an ensuing hour, he went into familiar stores and the
postoffice, the hotel and finally the Bradford Inn, meeting many
people whom he had known well. The sum of all their greetings left him
in cold amaze. At length Lane grasped the subtle import--that people
were tired of any one or anything which reminded them of the war. He
tried to drive that thought from lodgment in his mind. But it stuck.
And slowly he gathered the forces of his spirit to make good the
resolve with which he had faced this day--to withstand an appalling
truth.

At the inn he sat before an open fire and pondered between brief
conversations of men who accosted him. On the one hand it was
extremely trying, and on the other a fascinating and grim study--to
meet people, and find that he could read their minds. Had the war
given him some magic sixth sense, some clairvoyant power, some gift of
vision? He could not tell yet what had come to him, but there was
something.

Business men, halting to chat with Lane a few moments, helped along
his readjustment to the truth of the strange present. Almost all kinds
of business were booming. Most people had money to spend. And there