ontented with reiterations, however varied, of that which he had
seen through and around. It was the old defect--or glory--of his
character; the quality that had caused him more anxiety, more
self-reproach, more bitterness of soul than any other, the Rolling Stone
spirit that--though now he could not see it--even if it gathered no moss
of respectable achievement, might carry him far.

So as he rode he peered into the scheme of things for the final
satisfaction. In what did it lie? Not for him in mere activity, nor in
the accomplishment of the world's work, no matter how variedly
picturesque his particular share of it might be. He felt his interest
ebbing, his spirit restless at its moorings. The days passed. He arose
in the morning: and it was night! Four years ago he had come to
California. It seemed but yesterday. The days were past, gone, used. Of
it all what had he retained? The years had run like sea sands between
his fingers, and not a grain of them remained in his grasp. A little
money was there, a little knowledge, a little experience--but what
toward the final satisfaction, the justification of a man's life? Bob
was still too young, too individualistic to consider the doctrine of the
day's work well done as the explanation and justification of all. The
coming years would pass as quickly, leaving as little behind. Never so
poignantly had he felt the insistence of the _carpe diem_. It was
necessary that he find a reality, something he could winnow from the
years as fine gold from sand, so that he could lay his hand on the
treasure and say to his soul: "This much have I accomplished." Bob had
learned well the American lesson: that the idler is to be scorned; that
a true man must use his powers, must work; that he must _succeed_. Now
he was taking the next step spiritually. How does a man really use his
powers? What is success?

Troubled by this spiritual unrest, the analysis of which, even the
nature of which was still beyond him, he arrived at camp. The familiar
objects fretted on his mood. For the moment all the grateful feeling of
power over understanding and manipulating this complicated machinery of
industry had left him. He saw only the wheel in which these activities
turned, and himself bound to it. In this truly Buddhistic frame of mind
he returned to his quarters.

There, to his vague annoyance, he found Baker. Usually the liveliness of
that able young citizen was welcome, but to-night it grated.

"We