Bonbright's first day in the plant had carried no suggestion from his
father as to what his work was actually to be. He had merely walked
about, listening to Hangar's expositions of processes and systems.
After he was in bed that night he began to wonder what work would
fall to him. What work had it been the custom for the heir apparent
to perform? What work had his father and grandfather and great-
grandfather performed when their positions were his position to-
day?... Vaguely he recognized his incompetence to administer anything
of importance. Probably, little by little, detail by detail, matters
would be placed under his jurisdiction until he was safely
functioning in the family groove.

His dreams that night were of a reluctant, nightmarish passage down a
huge groove, a monotonous groove, whose smooth, insurmountable sides
offered no hint of variety. ... As he looked ahead he could see
nothing but this straight groove stretching into infinity. Always he
was disturbed and made wretched by a consciousness of movement, of
varied life and activity, of adventure, of thrill, outside the
groove, but invisible, unreachable. ... He strove to clamber up the
glassy sides, only to slip back, realizing the futility of the
EFFORT.

He breakfasted alone, before his father or mother was about, and left
the house on foot, driven by an aching restlessness. It was early.
The factory whistle had not yet blown when he reached the gates, but
already men carrying lunch boxes were arriving in a yawning, sleepy
stream. ... Now Bonbright knew why he had arisen early and why he had
come here. It was to see this flood of workmen again; to scrutinize
them, to puzzle over them and their motives and their unrest. He