The Dust [84]
cynic of a time-server--the truth that he was resigning at the dictation of a pride which forbade him to involve others in the ruin he, in his madness, was bent upon.
"I don't mean, why do you resign," said Lockyer. "I mean the other--the--woman."
Norman laughed harshly.
"I've seen too much of the world not to understand," continued Lockyer. "The measureless power of woman over man--especially--pardon me, my dear Norman--especially a bad woman!"
"The measureless power of a man's imagination over himself," rejoined Norman. "Did you ever see or hear of a man without imagination being upset by a woman? It's in here, Mr. Lockyer"--he rapped his forehead--"altogether in here."
"You realize that. Yet you go on--and for such a --pardon me, my boy, for saying it--for such a trifling object."
"What does `trifling' mean, sir?" replied the young man. "What is trifling and what is important? It depends upon the point of view. What I want-- that is vital. What I do not want--that is paltry. It's my nature to go for what I happen to want--to go for it with all there is in me. I will take nothing else--nothing else."
There was in his eyes the glitter called insanity-- the glitter that reflects the state of mind of any strong man when possessed of one of those fixed ideas that are the idiosyncrasy of the strong. It would have been impossible for Lockyer to be possessed in that way; he had not the courage nor the concentration nor the inde- pendence of soul; like most men, even able men, he dealt only in the conventional. Not in his wildest youth could he have wrecked or injured himself for a woman; women, for him, occupied their conventional place in the scheme of things, and had no allure beyond the conventionally proper and the conventionally improper-- for, be it remembered, vice has its beaten track no less than virtue and most of the vicious are as tame and unimaginative as the plodders in the high roads of propriety. Still, Lockyer had associated with strong men, men of boundless desires; thus, he could in a measure sympathize with his young associate. What a pity that these splendid powers should be perverted from the ordinary desires of strong men!
Norman rose, to end the interview. "My address is my house. They will forward--if I go away."
Lockyer gave him a hearty handclasp, made a few phrases about good wishes and the like, left him alone. The general opinion was that Norman was done for. But Lockyer could not see it. He had seen too many men fall only to rise out of lowest depths to greater heights than they had fallen from. And Norman was only thirty-seven. Perhaps this would prove to be merely a dip in a securely brilliant career and not a fall at all. In that case--with such a brain, such a genius for the lawlessness of the law, what a laughing on the other side of the mouth there might yet be among young Norman's enemies--and friends!
He spent most of the next few days--the lunch time, the late afternoon, finally the early morning hours-- lurking about the Equitable Building, in which were the offices of Pytchley and Culver. As that building had entrances on four streets, the best he could do was to walk round and round, with an occasional excursion through the corridors and past the elevators. He had written her, asking to see her; he had got no answer. He ceased to wait at the elevators after he had twice narrowly escaped being seen by Tetlow. He was indifferent to Tetlow, except as meeting him might make it harder to see Dorothy. He drank hard. But drink never affected him except to make him more grimly tenacious in whatever he had deliberately and soberly resolved. Drink did not explain--neither wholly nor in any part--this conduct of his. It, and the more erratic vagaries to follow, will seem incredible conduct for a man of Norman's character and position to feeble folk with their feeble desires, their dread of criticism and ridicule, their exaggerated and adoring notions of the master men. In fact, it was the natural outcome of the man's nature--arrogant, contemptuous
"I don't mean, why do you resign," said Lockyer. "I mean the other--the--woman."
Norman laughed harshly.
"I've seen too much of the world not to understand," continued Lockyer. "The measureless power of woman over man--especially--pardon me, my dear Norman--especially a bad woman!"
"The measureless power of a man's imagination over himself," rejoined Norman. "Did you ever see or hear of a man without imagination being upset by a woman? It's in here, Mr. Lockyer"--he rapped his forehead--"altogether in here."
"You realize that. Yet you go on--and for such a --pardon me, my boy, for saying it--for such a trifling object."
"What does `trifling' mean, sir?" replied the young man. "What is trifling and what is important? It depends upon the point of view. What I want-- that is vital. What I do not want--that is paltry. It's my nature to go for what I happen to want--to go for it with all there is in me. I will take nothing else--nothing else."
There was in his eyes the glitter called insanity-- the glitter that reflects the state of mind of any strong man when possessed of one of those fixed ideas that are the idiosyncrasy of the strong. It would have been impossible for Lockyer to be possessed in that way; he had not the courage nor the concentration nor the inde- pendence of soul; like most men, even able men, he dealt only in the conventional. Not in his wildest youth could he have wrecked or injured himself for a woman; women, for him, occupied their conventional place in the scheme of things, and had no allure beyond the conventionally proper and the conventionally improper-- for, be it remembered, vice has its beaten track no less than virtue and most of the vicious are as tame and unimaginative as the plodders in the high roads of propriety. Still, Lockyer had associated with strong men, men of boundless desires; thus, he could in a measure sympathize with his young associate. What a pity that these splendid powers should be perverted from the ordinary desires of strong men!
Norman rose, to end the interview. "My address is my house. They will forward--if I go away."
Lockyer gave him a hearty handclasp, made a few phrases about good wishes and the like, left him alone. The general opinion was that Norman was done for. But Lockyer could not see it. He had seen too many men fall only to rise out of lowest depths to greater heights than they had fallen from. And Norman was only thirty-seven. Perhaps this would prove to be merely a dip in a securely brilliant career and not a fall at all. In that case--with such a brain, such a genius for the lawlessness of the law, what a laughing on the other side of the mouth there might yet be among young Norman's enemies--and friends!
He spent most of the next few days--the lunch time, the late afternoon, finally the early morning hours-- lurking about the Equitable Building, in which were the offices of Pytchley and Culver. As that building had entrances on four streets, the best he could do was to walk round and round, with an occasional excursion through the corridors and past the elevators. He had written her, asking to see her; he had got no answer. He ceased to wait at the elevators after he had twice narrowly escaped being seen by Tetlow. He was indifferent to Tetlow, except as meeting him might make it harder to see Dorothy. He drank hard. But drink never affected him except to make him more grimly tenacious in whatever he had deliberately and soberly resolved. Drink did not explain--neither wholly nor in any part--this conduct of his. It, and the more erratic vagaries to follow, will seem incredible conduct for a man of Norman's character and position to feeble folk with their feeble desires, their dread of criticism and ridicule, their exaggerated and adoring notions of the master men. In fact, it was the natural outcome of the man's nature--arrogant, contemptuous