e polite, and
alternately swayed by caution or anger. Our mind oscillates like a
pendulum: it takes some time for it to come to rest. And then, the
proper allowance and correction has to be made for our individual
vibrations that prevent accuracy. Even the compass needle doesn't point
the true north, but only the magnetic north. Similarly our minds at best
can but indicate magnetic truth, and are distorted by many things that
act as iron filings do on the compass. The necessity of holding one's
job: what an iron filing that is on the compass card of a man's brain!

We are all afraid of truth: we keep a battalion of our pet prejudices
and precautions ready to throw into the argument as shock troops,
rather than let our fortress of Truth be stormed. We have smoke bombs
and decoy ships and all manner of cunning colorizations by which we
conceal our innards from our friends, and even from ourselves. How we
fume and fidget, how we bustle and dodge rather than commit ourselves.

In days of hurry and complication, in the incessant pressure of human
problems that thrust our days behind us, does one never dream of a way
of life in which talk would be honored and exalted to its proper place
in the sun? What a zest there is in that intimate unreserved exchange of
thought, in the pursuit of the magical blue bird of joy and human
satisfaction that may be seen flitting distantly through the branches of
life. It was a sad thing for the world when it grew so busy that men had
no time to talk. There are such treasures of knowledge and compassion in
the minds of our friends, could we only have time to talk them out of
their shy quarries. If we had our way, we would set aside one day a week
for talking. In fact, we would reorganize the week altogether. We would
have one day for Worship (let each man devote it to worship of whatever
he holds dearest); one day for Work; one day for Play (probably
fishing); one day for Talking; one day for Reading, and one day for
Smoking and Thinking. That would leave one day for Resting, and
(incidentally) interviewing employers.

The best week of our life was one in which we did nothing but talk. We
spent it with a delightful gentleman who has a little bungalow on the
shore of a lake in Pike County. He had a great many books and cigars,
both of which are conversational stimulants. We used to lie out on the
edge of the lake, in our oldest trousers, and talk. We discussed ever so
many subjects; in all of