These thoughts occupied his mind as he continued on his way. He walked
erect now, with shoulders thrown back, and with a more buoyant step
than he had taken in many a day. His blood tingled and his eyes glowed
with a new-found light. He felt much of the old thrill that had
animated him at the beginning of the Great War, and had sent him
overseas to take his part in the titanic struggle. An overmastering
urge had then swept upon him, compelling him to abandon all on behalf
of the mighty cause. It was his nature, and the leopard could no more
change its spots than could Tom Reynolds overcome the influence of a
gripping desire. Ever since childhood thought and action had always
been welded in the strong clear heat of an overwhelming purpose. It
had caused him considerable trouble, but at the same time it had
carried him through many a difficult undertaking that had daunted other
men. It was only the afterwards that affected him, the depression,
when the objective had been attained. So for months after the war
ended his life had seemed of no avail, and he found it impossible to
settle comfortably back into the grooves of civilian life in a
bustling, thriving city. Everything seemed tame and insignificant
after what he had experienced overseas. Time instead of lessening had
only increased this feeling, until Reynolds believed that he could no
longer endure the prosaic life of the city. Such was the state of his
mind when he beheld the face across the street, which in some
mysterious manner gave him a sudden impulse and a new outlook upon the
world. After a short quick walk, he turned into a side street and
stopped at length before a building from which extended a large
electric sign, bearing the words _Telegram_ and _Evening News_. He
entered, and at once made his way through several rooms until he
reached the editorial office at the back of the building. The door was
open, and seated at the desk was an elderly man, busily writing. He
looked up as Reynolds appeared, and a smile illumined his face.