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Updated: July 10, 2025
It's good enough just to loaf around and look at." Lawanne had supper with them. Hollister asked him, not only as a matter of courtesy but with a genuine feeling that he wanted this man to break bread with them. He could not quite understand that sudden warmth of feeling for a stranger. He had never in his life been given to impulsive friendliness.
He ran down the bank, out into the shallows of the river, splashing through water to his knees. He gained the opposite side where the heavy woods lifted silent and solemn, full of dusky places. Into that whether for sanctuary or driven by some unreckoning panic, they did not know but into that he plunged, the last sight either Hollister or Lawanne ever had of him. They turned to Mills.
While Hollister, having duly pleased Lawanne's China-boy by this quarter of venison, sat talking to Lawanne, Charlie Mills came in to return a book. "Did you get anything out of that?" Lawanne asked. "I got a bad taste in my mouth," Mills replied. "It reads like things that happen. It's too blamed true to be pleasant.
He was suffering from temporary embarrassment, that was all. It was a bit rough on Myra, but it would be all right by and by. So much filtered into Hollister's ears and understanding before long. Archie Lawanne came back downstream with two grizzly pelts, and Hollister met Bland for the first time.
Hollister continued to muse on this after Lawanne went away. He thought Lawanne's summing up a trifle severe. Nevertheless it was a pretty clear statement of fact. Bland certainly seemed above working either for money or to secure a reasonable degree of comfort for himself and his wife.
But he doesn't love me any more than I love him. He blandly assumes that love is only a polite term for something else. And I can't believe that yet. Maybe I'm what Archie Lawanne calls a romantic sentimentalist, but there is something in me that craves from a man more than elementary passion. I'm a woman; therefore my nature demands of a man that he be first of all a man.
But whether it should prove lasting or not, they had it now and it was sufficient. Lawanne went down to Bland's in the morning. He was still there when Hollister climbed the hill to his work. Before evening he had something else to think about besides Lawanne. A trifle, but one of those trifles that recurs with irritating persistence no matter how often the mind gives it dismissal.
"Your wife," Lawanne observed to Hollister, "is quite a philosopher." Hollister nodded. He was thinking of this factor of chance. He himself had been a victim of it. He had profited by it. And he wondered what vagaries of chance were still to bestow happiness or inflict suffering upon him in spite of his most earnest effort to achieve mastery over circumstances.
I'm glad it's over. If there is any other life maybe that'll be better. I hope there isn't. I feel as if all I want is to sleep forever and ever. No more laying awake nights thinking till my head hurts and my heart is like a lump of lead. By God, I have been crazy." His body began to sag, and Hollister knelt beside him and supported him. He shook his head when Lawanne offered him a drink.
But he can't, unless he's made that way. And since he isn't responsible for the way he's made, what the hell can he do?" "You're on the high road to wisdom when you can look an abstraction like that in the face," Lawanne laughed. "What you say is true. But there's one item you overlook. A man is born with, say, certain predispositions.
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