e who, rather
than be any longer hustled in this howling mob dash themselves to
destruction.

He thought over the list of his friends. Friends--what man has more
than two or three? At this moment he knew of no one who wished him well
who could be of the slightest service. His acquaintances were of course
more numerous. There lay on his table two invitations just
received--the kind of invitation received by every man who does not
live the life of a hermit. But what human significance had they? Not a
name rose in his mind which symbolised helpfulness. True, that might be
to some extent his own fault; the people of whom he saw most were such
as needed, not such as could offer, aid. He thought of Ralph Pomfret.
There, certainly, a kindly will would not be lacking, but how could he
worry with his foolish affairs a man on whom he had no shadow of claim?
No: he stood alone. It was a lesson in social science such as reading
could never have afforded him. His insight into the order of a man's
world had all at once been marvellously quickened, the scope of his
reflections incredibly extended. Some vague consciousness of this now
and then arrested him in his long purposeless walks; he began to be
aware of seeing common things with new eyes. But the perception was
akin to fear; he started and looked nervously about, as if suddenly
aware of some peril.

One afternoon he was on his way home from a westward trudge, plodding
along the remoter part of Fulham Road, when words spoken by a woman
whom he passed caught his ears.

"See 'ere! The shutters is up. Boxon must be dead."

Boxon? How did he come to know that name? He slackened his pace,
reflecting. Why, Boxon was the name of the betting and drinking grocer,
with whom Allchin used to be. He stopped, and saw a group of three or
four women staring at the closed shop. Didn't Mrs. Hopper say that
Boxon had been nearly killed in a carriage accident? Doubtless he was
dead.

He walked on, but before he had gone a dozen yards, stopped abruptly,
turned, crossed to the other side of the road, and went back till he
stood opposite the closed shop. The name of the tradesman in great gilt
letters proved that there was no mistake. He examined the building;
there were two storys above the shop; the first seemed to be used for
storage; white blinds at the windows of the second showed it to be
inhabited. For some five minutes Will stood gazing and reflecting;
then, with head bent as before, he