and self-development carried one to pleasures which sordid
self-indulgences had no power to bestow. It was a question of
getting the most from life. It was a matter of happiness.

It was thus he began, slowly, the telling of his life's story:

"I was born with strange, wild passions in my heart. I don't know
where they came from; I only know they were there. I resented
authority. If someone who had a right to dictate to me said,
'Philip, do this,' then Philip would immediately begin to think how
much he would rather do the other thing. And," he smiled a little,
and some of the boys smiled with him in anticipation, "it was the
other thing which Philip usually did.

"I didn't go to a reform school, for the very good reason that there
wasn't any in the State where I lived." Some of he boys smiled
again, and he could hear the nervous coughing of one of the party
managers sitting close to him. "I was what you would call a very bad
boy. I didn't mind any one. I was defiant--insolent. I did bad
things just because I knew they were bad, and--and I took a great
deal of satisfaction out of it."

The sighing of the world without was the only sound which vibrated
through the room. "I say," he went on, "that I got a form of
satisfaction from it. I did not say I got happiness; there is a vast
difference between a kind of momentary satisfaction and that
thing--that most precious of all things--which we call happiness.
Indeed, I was very far from happy. I had hours when I was so morose
and miserable that I hated the whole world. And do you know what I
thought? I thought there was no one in all the world who had the