Then I see a dread of sinking into humdrum--the impulse
never to be at rest; deeper than all this, I find a secret
dissatisfaction with myself, a vague longing to use the best that is in
me to some true purpose; a desire to leave the tangled skein, and "begin
all over again."
It was early in January when I set out on my mission to the distant
shores of Cape Cod. It was also, I remember, very early in the morning,
and John Cable occupied a seat in the car. I had reason to know that John
shared in the family disapproval of my sublime conduct. He sat, looking
very glum behind his paper, and appeared not to notice me when I came in.
Having finished reading his paper, he gnawed his moustache and gazed,
still with glaring unconsciousness of my presence, out of the window. But
as we neared Hartford, where I was to take the train for Boston, he came
over to where I sat.
"I hope you'll enjoy yourself at Sandy Creek this winter," he said.
Now, I knew that John had designed this as sarcasm the most scathing, but
he was himself conscious of failure, and the thought filled him with
deeper gloom. He sought to reveal his baffled intentions in a scowl,
which lent to his manly and intelligent features the darkness of
spiritual night.
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