tilation;
conquering, irresistible--and blindly noble. For the first time in his
life Bibbs began to understand the meaning of being truly this man's
son.

He would be the more truly his son henceforth, though, as Sheridan said,
Bibbs had not come down-town with him meanly or half-heartedly. He
had given his word because he had wanted the money, simply, for Mary
Vertrees in her need. And he shivered with horror of himself, thinking
how he had gone to her to offer it, asking her to marry him--with his
head on his breast in shameful fear that she would accept him! He had
not known her; the knowing had lost her to him, and this had been his
real awakening; for he knew now how deep had been that slumber wherein
he dreamily celebrated the superiority of "friendship"! The sleep-walker
had wakened to bitter knowledge of love and life, finding himself a
failure in both. He had made a burnt offering of his dreams, and the
sacrifice had been an unforgivable hurt to Mary. All that was left for
him was the work he had not chosen, but at least he would not fail in
that, though it was indeed no more than "dust in his mouth." If there
had been anything "to work for--"

He went to the window, raised it, and let in the uproar of the streets
below. He looked down at the blurred, hurrying swarms and he looked
across, over the roofs with their panting jets of vapor, into the vast,
foggy heart of the smoke. Dizzy traceries of steel were rising dimly
against it, chattering with steel on steel, and screeching in steam,
while tiny figures of men walked on threads in the dull sky. Buildings
would overtop the Sheridan. Bigness was being served.

But what for? The old question came to Bibbs with a new despair. Here,
where his eyes fell, had once been green fields and running brooks, and
how had the kind earth been despoiled and disfigured! The pioneers had
begun the work, but in their old age their orators had said for them
that they had toiled and risked and sacrificed that their posterity
might live in peace and wisdom, enjoying the fruits of the earth. Well,
their posterity was here--and there was only turmoil. Where was the
promised land? It had been promised by the soldiers of all the wars; it
had been promised to this generation by the pioneers; but here was the
very posterity to whom it had been promised, toiling and risking and
sacrificing in turn--for what?

The harsh roar of the city came in through the open window, continuously
be