Suddenly he found himself alone
and disconsolate.
He went home sick in spirit. As he lay in his bed that night, trying to
go to sleep, he said to himself that if ever he should see the face
again--and he prayed that he might--no merely physical barriers should
keep him from seeking out the rare spirit that animated such features.
Ah, but it had been much even to have seen that face; even that had been
worth living for. At last he fell asleep peacefully.
The next morning Mr. Neal entered upon a new life. He had seen the face;
it had not been a dream after all. He felt young again--not young with
the ambition he had once felt so strongly, but glad and cleansed and
strengthened by a sure faith in the supremacy of truth and goodness in
the world. A happy smile lighted his serious face that morning; a faint
flush touched the pallor of his cheeks; and his deep grey eyes were
unusually luminous.
Even the roar of the subway did not pull his spirits down, and when he
briskly entered the office of Fields, Jones & Houseman, the
old-fashioned high desks and stools and all the worn, dingy furniture of
the room seemed to the little clerk with the shining face to be
strangely new. The chief clerk, sitting at a dusty old roll-top desk in
the corner, looked up at Mr.
Pages:
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475