d him--such a field of action
seemed to be the domain for which he was precisely suited--not the
politics of the city or of the state; not the nasty little squabbling of
boodlers, lobbyists, and supervisors, but something large, something
inspiring, something on a tremendous scale, something to which one could
give up one's whole life and energy, something to which one could
sacrifice everything--friendships, fortunes, scruples, principles, life
itself, no matter what, anything to be a "success," to "arrive," to "get
there," to attain the desired object in spite of the whole world, to
ride on at it, trampling down or smashing through everything that stood
in the way, blind, deaf, fists and teeth shut tight. Not the little
squabbling politics of the city or state, but national politics, the
sway and government of a whole people, the House, the Senate, the
cabinet and the next--why not?--the highest, the best of all, the
Executive. Yes, Geary aspired even to the Presidency.

For a moment he allowed himself the indulgence of the delightful dream,
then laughed a bit at his own absurdity. But even the entertainment of
so vast an idea had made his mind, as it were, big; it was hard to come
down to the level again. In spite of himself he went on reasoning in
stupendous thoughts, in enormous ideas, figuring with immense
abstractions. And then after all, why not? Other men had striven and
attained; other men were even now striving, other men would "arrive";
why should not he? As well he as another. Every man for himself--that
was his maxim. It might be damned selfish, but it was human nature: the
weakest to the wall, the strongest to the front. Why should not he be in
the front? Why not in the very front rank? Why not be even before the
front rank itself--the leader? Vast, vague ideas passed slowly across
the vision of his mind, ideas that could hardly be formulated into
thought, ideas of the infinite herd of humanity, driven on as if by some
enormous, relentless engine, driven on toward some fearful distant
bourne, driven on recklessly at headlong speed. All life was but a
struggle to keep from under those myriad spinning wheels that dashed so
close behind. Those were happiest who were farthest to the front. To lag
behind was peril; to fall was to perish, to be ridden down, to be beaten
to the dust, to be inexorably crushed and blotted out beneath that
myriad of spinning iron wheels. Geary looked up quickly and saw Vandover
sta