ing a loom. Here was an incentive again, for it was piece-work. And
he excelled, because the clay of him had been moulded by the mills
into the perfect machine. At the end of three months he was running two
looms, and, later, three and four.

At the end of his second year at the looms he was turning out more yards
than any other weaver, and more than twice as much as some of the less
skilful ones. And at home things began to prosper as he approached the
full stature of his earning power. Not, however, that his increased
earnings were in excess of need. The children were growing up. They ate
more. And they were going to school, and school-books cost money. And
somehow, the faster he worked, the faster climbed the prices of things.
Even the rent went up, though the house had fallen from bad to worse
disrepair.

He had grown taller; but with his increased height he seemed leaner
than ever. Also, he was more nervous. With the nervousness increased his
peevishness and irritability. The children had learned by many bitter
lessons to fight shy of him. His mother respected him for his earning
power, but somehow her respect was tinctured with fear.

There was no joyousness in life for him. The procession of the days he
never saw. The nights he slept away in twitching unconsciousness.
The rest of the time he worked, and his consciousness was machine
consciousness. Outside this his mind was a blank. He had no ideals,
and but one illusion; namely, that he drank excellent coffee. He was a
work-beast. He had no mental life whatever; yet deep down in the crypts
of his mind, unknown to him, were being weighed and sifted every hour of
his toil, every movement of his hands, every twitch of his muscles, and
preparations were making for a future course of action that would amaze
him and all his little world.

It was in the late spring that he came home from work one night aware of
unusual tiredness. There was a keen expectancy in the air as he sat down
to the table, but he did not notice. He went through the meal in moody
silence, mechanically eating what was before him. The children um'd
and ah'd and made smacking noises with their mouths. But he was deaf to
them.

"D'ye know what you're eatin'?" his mother demanded at last,
desperately.

He looked vacantly at the dish before him, and vacantly at her.

"Floatin' island," she announced triumphantly.

"Oh," he said.

"Floating island!" the children chorussed loudly.

"Oh," he s