it at all. I had seen him before in a
mood of exaltation, but nothing like this.

"David," said he, "I'm going to write a novel--a great novel."

He paused and looked at me with tremendous seriousness. The whole thing
struck me all at once, partly in revulsion from the alarm I had felt
when he first came in, as being the most absurd and humorous proceeding
I had ever known. I laughed outright.

"Is this what you came to tell me at three o'clock in the morning?"

But Nort's mood was beyond ridicule. He did not seem to notice my
laughter at all, but plunged at once into an account, a more or less
jumbled account I am forced to admit, of all the things he would put
into his novel. As nearly as I could make out he proposed to leave
nothing out, nothing whatever that was in any way related to American
life--politics, religion, business, love, art, city life, country
life--everything. He didn't seem to be quite sure yet whether he could
get it all into one large volume, like one of Scott's novels, or whether
he would make a trilogy of volumes, like Frank Norris, or a whole
_comedie humaine_ after the manner of Balzac. I gathered that it was not
only to be the great American novel, but the greatest that would ever be
written.

It was so preposterous, so extraordinary! But it was Nort. I can see him
now, vividly, pacing up and down the room, head thrown back, hair flying
wild, telling me of his visions. I slipped into my overcoat, for it was
cold, and still he talked on, and at moments I actually thought the
rascal had lost control of himself. This impression was increased by a
startling incident which was wholly unexplainable to me at the time.
Just as Nort was walking down the study toward the east window he
stopped suddenly, looked around at me, and said in a low voice:

[Illustration: "_David, I saw a face looking in at that window_"]

"David, I saw a face looking in at that window."

I followed his glance quickly, but could see nothing.

"You're dreaming, Nort," said I.

"No, I saw it."

"See here, Nort," I said, "this is not reasonable. I want you to stop
talking and go to bed. Can't you see how foolish it is?"

For the first time Nort laughed his old laugh.

"I suppose, David, it is--but it seems to me I never lived before
to-night."

He seemed on the point of telling me something more. I wish he had,
though it probably would not have changed the course of events which
followed.

"Well," he said, "I'll