wn to hailing distance.

"What do you want?" he demanded of me, addressing me as any disrobed
plebeian might have done.

"I'm Malcolm, sir, David Malcolm," I returned apologetically. "I wish to
see Mr. Henderson."

"Henderson, eh?" The judge leaned over the window-sill, and he spoke less
sharply. "You'll find him at the station waiting for the night train
out. I tried to persuade him to stay, but he wouldn't. How in the
world, Mr. Malcolm, could Harassan have sent such a fool in his place?
Did you ever hear such utter nonsense? I forgive him about the
nails--that was inadvertent, but that stuff about ambition----"

I did not wait to hear the judge controvert my friend's pessimistic
philosophy, but with a brusque "good-night" hurried away. The window
banged behind me, a sharp commentary on my rudeness. The iron gate
clanged again, and I was off down the hill, running toward the lower town.

A shrill whistle stopped me. Looking into the valley I saw a chain of
lights weaving their way along the river. They wound through the gap in
the mountain, and I saw them no longer. I heard the whistle again, far
off now, and it seemed to mock me.

CHAPTER X

I listened to hear the divine drumbeat. I set myself to march under
sealed orders.

To most of us the Professor's speech had been pessimism compact; to me
it was inspiring, though wofully lacking in details. I seemed to be
marking time. The duties which lay at my hand were unchanged, and I
was plodding along as I had plodded before through a commonplace
routine. I sought to give to my duties some of the glamour of
conquests, but they soon failed to lend themselves to any simulation of
romance. After all, marching to the divine drumbeat was simply to
follow the precepts ingrained in me as a child, but it is much easier
to make a quick charge amid the blare of bugles than to plod along day
after day to the monotonous grumble of the drum. I wished that the
Professor had been a little more explicit, and yet his last words were
always with me. It was as though they were intended for me alone, and
I coupled them with his admonition to me that day long ago in the
cabin: "Get out of the valley. Do something. Be somebody." My great
desire was to see him, for I believed that he could help me to set my
course. I wanted help, and my father, my natural adviser, was of
little service to me. To him my opportunity was the small one that lay
at home. Mr. Pou