By and by the boss appeared at my desk. One look at his face convinced
me of the truth of Tagore's saying that great activity is poison to the
soul. Certainly his face was poisonous.
"Say," he shouted, "what the devil's the matter with you to-day? Dennis
just called me up about that herring order--"
"Master," I said mildly, "be not overwrought. Great activity is a
strychnine to the soul. I am a mystic...."
A little later I found myself on the street with two weeks' pay in my
pocket. It is true that my departure had been hasty and unpleasant, for
the stairway from the office to the street is long and dusty; but I
recalled what Professor Tagore had said about vicissitudes being the
true revealers of the spirit. My hat was not with me, but I remembered
the creed pasted in it. After pacing a block or so, my soul was once
more tranquil.
I entered a restaurant. It was the noon hour, and the room was crowded
with hurrying waiters and impatient people. I found a vacant seat in a
corner and sat down. I concentrated my mind upon the majestic vision of
the brotherhood of man.
Gradually I began to feel hungry, but no waiter came near me. Never
mind, I thought: to shout and hammer the table as the others do is
beneath the dignity of a philosopher. I began to dream of endless vistas
of mystical ham and eggs. I brooded upon these for some time, but still
no corporeal and physical units of food reached me.
The man next me gradually materialized into my consciousness. Full of
love for humanity I spoke to him.
"Brother," I said, "until one of these priestly waiters draws nigh, will
you not permit me to sustain myself with one of your rolls and one of
your butter-balls? In the great brotherhood of humanity, all that is
mine is yours; and _per contra_, all that is yours is mine." Beaming
luminously upon him, I laid a friendly hand on his arm.
He leaped up and called the head waiter. "Here's an attic for rent!" he
cried coarsely. "He wants to pick my pocket."
By the time I got away from the police station it was dusk, and I felt
ready for home. I must say my broodings upon eternal beauty were
beginning to be a little forced. As I passed along the crowded street,
walking slowly and withdrawn into the quiet of my soul, three people
trod upon my heels and a taxi nearly gave me a passport to eternity. I
reflected that men were perhaps not yet ready for these doctrines of
infinite peace. How much more wise were the animals--and I raised my
hand to stroke a huge dray-horse by the pavement. He seized my fingers
in his teeth and nipped them vigorously.
I gave a yell and ran full tilt to the nearest subway entrance. I burst
into the mass of struggling, unphilosophic humanity and fought, shoved,
cursed, and buffeted with them. I pushed three old ladies to one side to
snatch my ticket before they could get theirs. I leaped into the car at
the head of a flying wedge of sinful, unmystical men, who knew nothing
of infinite beauty and peace. As the door closed I pushed a decrepit
clergyman outside, and I hope he fell on the third rail. As I felt the
lurching, trampling, throttling jam of humanity sway to and fro with the
motion of the car, I drew a long breath. Dare I confess it?--I was
perfectly happy!