yonder, but present everywhere. This fog made clear vision
impossible, usually made seeing of any kind difficult; there was
no such thing as finding a distinct line between truth and error
as to any subject. And reason seemed almost as faulty a guide as
feeling--was by many regarded as more faulty, not without
justification.

But nowadays for some of us there are clear or almost clear
horizons, and such fog banks as there are conceal from them
nothing that is of importance in shaping a rational course of
life. Victor Dorn was one of these emancipated few. All
successful men form their lives upon a system of some kind. Even
those who seem to live at haphazard, like the multitude, prove to
have chart and compass and definite port in objective when their
conduct is more attentively examined. Victor Dorn's system was
as perfect as it was simple, and he held himself to it as rigidly
as the father superior of a Trappist monastery holds his monks to
their routine. Also, Victor had learned to know and to be on
guard against those two arch-enemies of the man who wishes to
``get somewhere''--self-excuse and optimism. He had got a good
strong leash upon his vanity --and a muzzle, too. When things
went wrong he instantly blamed HIMSELF, and did not rest until he
had ferreted out the stupidity or folly of which HE had been
guilty. He did not grieve over his failures; he held severely
scientific post mortems upon them to discover the reason why--in
order that there should not again be that particular kind of
failure at least. Then, as to the other arch-enemy, optimism, he
simply cut himself off from indulgence in it. He worked for
success; he assumed failure. He taught himself to care nothing
about success, but only about doing as intelligently and as