Out from the sheltered place of his dreams the man had come into the
busy world of deeds--into the world where those who, like himself, had
dreamed, were putting their dreams into action. Out from the years of
his boyhood he had come into the years of his manhood--out from the
scenes of his Yesterdays into the scenes of his to-days.

For weeks, with his young strength stirring mightily within him and
his rich, red, blood hot in his veins, he had been crying out to the
world: "Make way for me. Give me a place that I may work out my
dreams. Give me something to do." For weeks, he had been trying to
convince the world that it needed him. But the busy, happy, world--the
idle, dreaming, world--the discontented, sullen, world--was not so
easily convinced. His young strength and his red blood did not seem to
count for as much as they should. His confidence and his courage did
not seem to impress. His high rank in the boyhood world did not
entitle him to a like position among men. His graduating address had
made no stir in the world of thought. His athletic record had caused
no comment in the world of industry. His coming did not disturb the
world of commerce.

A few he found who wrought with all the vigor and enthusiasm of their
dreaming. These said: "What have you done that we should make room for
you? Prove yourself first then come to us." Many he saw who had
wearied of the game and were dreaming new dreams. These said: "We
ourselves are without Occupation. There are not places enough for all.
Stand aside and give us room." Many others there were who, with dreams
forgotten, labored as dull cattle, goaded by brute necessity, with no
vision, no purpose, no hope, to make of their toil a blessing. And
these laughed at him with vicious laughter, saying: "Why should anyone
want anything to do?"