CHAPTER IV


BURDENED


Christian Vellacott soon descended the dingy stairs and joined the
westward-wending throng in the Strand. In the midst of the crowd he was
alone, as townsmen soon learn to be. The passing faces, the roar of
traffic, and the thousand human possibilities of interest around him in
no way disturbed his thoughts. In his busy brain the traffic of thought,
passing and repassing, crossing and recrossing, went on unaffected by
outward things. A modern poet has confessed that his muse loves the
pavement--a bold confession, but most certainly true. Why does talent
gravitate to cities? Because there it works its best--because friction
necessarily produces brilliancy. Nature is a great deceiver; she draws
us on to admire her insinuating charms, and in the contemplation of them
we lose our energy.

Christian had been born and bred in cities. The din and roar of life was
to him what the voice of the sea is to the sailor. In the midst of
crowded humanity he was in his element, and as he walked rapidly along
he made his way dexterously through the narrow places without thinking
of it. While meditating deeply he was by no means absorbed. In his
active life there had been no time for thoughts beyond the present, no
leisure for dreaming. He could not afford to be absent-minded. Numbers