ed in the scene with bold strokes; the desolate bois brule on the
mountain side, the polished crystal surface of the pool broken here
and there with the circles left by rising fish; I pictured Armand,
the guide, his pipe between his teeth, holding the canoe against the
current; and I seemed to smell the sharp tang of the balsams, to hear
the roar of the rapids below. Then came the sudden hooking of the big
trout, habitant oaths from Armand, bouleversement, wetness, darkness,
confusion; a half-strangled feeling, a brief glimpse of green things and
sunlight, and then strangulation, or what seemed like it; strangulation,
the sense of being picked up and hurled by a terrific force whither? a
blinding whiteness, in which it was impossible to breathe, one sharp,
almost unbearable pain, then another, then oblivion.... Finally,
awakening, to be confronted by a much worried Uncle Jake.

By this time the detective story had fallen to the floor, and Tom was
huddled up in his chair, asleep. He arose obediently and wrapped a wet
towel around his head, and began to write. Once he paused long enough to
mutter:--"Yes, that's about it,--that's the way I felt!" and set to work
again, mechanically,--all the praise I got for what I deemed a literary
achievement of the highest order! At three o'clock, a.m., he finished,
pulled off his clothes automatically and tumbled into bed. I had no
desire for sleep. My brain was racing madly, like an engine without a
governor. I could write! I could write! I repeated the words over and
over to myself. All the complexities of my present life were blotted
out, and I beheld only the long, sweet vista of the career for which
I was now convinced that nature had intended me. My immediate fortunes
became unimportant, immaterial. No juice of the grape I had ever
tasted made me half so drunk.... With the morning, of course, came the
reaction, and I suffered the after sensations of an orgie, awaking to a
world of necessity, cold and grey and slushy, and necessity alone made
me rise from my bed. My experience of the night before might have taught
me that happiness lies in the trick of transforming necessity, but it
did not. The vision had faded,--temporarily, at least; and such was the
distraction of the succeeding days that the subject of the theme passed
from my mind....

One morning Tom was later than usual in getting home. I was writing a
letter when he came in, and did not notice him, yet I was vaguely aware