"No. Something that was done to me."

"But how can a man be humiliated by the act of another?"

I saw what he meant; and I was not humiliated any more.

The stranger spoke again. "A mob," he said, "is a blind thing, worse
than madness. It is the beast in man running away with his master."

I thought to myself: how can he know what has happened to me? But
then I reflected, perhaps he saw them drive me into the church! I
found myself with a sudden, queer impulse to apologize for those
soldier boys. "We had some terrible fighting," I cried. "And you
know what wars do--to the minds of the people, I mean."

"Yes," said the stranger, "I know, only too well."

I had meant to explain this mob; but somehow, I decided that I could
not. How could I make him understand moving picture shows, and
German competition, and ex-service men out of jobs? There was a
pause, and he asked, "Can you stand up?"

I tried and found that I could. I felt the side of my jaw, and it
hurt, but somehow the pain seemed apart from myself. I could see
clearly and steadily; there were only two things wrong that I could
find--first, this stranger standing by my side, and second, that
hole in the window, where I had seen him standing so many Sunday
mornings!

"Are you going out now?" he asked. As I hesitated, he added,