A weakness in one foot could not kill the spirit of a
race horse. Tied there beside the track, watching others struggling for
the race! He had wondered about that horse, then, had been sure from the
quivering of its nostrils, the pawing of its foot, the passionate
trembling of its whole superb body that it suffered. Thinking back to it
to-night he had good reason to know that he had been right that day.
It was queer about life. In some ways so incomprehensively great and
superb, and yet so easy to be overthrown. Great purposes seemed very
great, but was a thing really great when it was so easily undermined? Was
there not a dizzying instability about it all?
He smiled a little as he lighted his pipe. He seemed to be doing a great
deal of speculating these days. What if he too were to be graduated into
the bigger field of philosophy? But he shook his head, still smiling a
little. If he ever entered the bigger field of philosophy he was sure he
would not be carried there in other men's elevators, that he would not
arrive in the jaunty, well-groomed state of Ross and his sort.
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