tedly some friend, and recall that the last time you saw him it
was that night you two, strolling with hands clasped, met him on Second
Avenue accidentally, and chatted on the corner; to come across
a necktie in a trunk, to read a book he had marked, to see his
handwriting--perhaps just the address on an old baggage-check--Oh, one
can sound so much braver than one feels! And then, because you have
tried so hard to live up to the pride and faith he had in you, to be
told: "You know I am surprised that you haven't taken Carl's death
harder. You seem to be just the same exactly."

What is _seeming_? Time and time again, these months, I have thought,
what do any of us know about what another person _feels_? A smile--a
laugh--I used to think of course they stood for happiness. There can be
many smiles, much laughter, and it means--nothing. But surely anything
is kinder for a friend to see than tears!

When Carl returned from the East in January, he was more rushed than
ever--his time more filled than ever with strike mediations, street-car
arbitrations, cost of living surveys for the Government, conferences on
lumber production. In all, he had mediated thirty-two strikes, sat on
two arbitration boards, made three cost-of-living surveys for the
Government. (Mediations did gall him--he grew intellectually impatient
over this eternal patching up of what he was wont to call "a rotten
system." Of course he saw the war-emergency need of it just then, but
what he wanted to work on was, why were mediations ever necessary? what
social and economic order would best ensure absence of friction?)

On the campus work piled up. He had promised to give a course on
Employment Management, especially to train men to go into the lumber
industries with a new vision. (Each big company east of the mountains
was to send a representative.) It was also open to seniors in college,
and a splendid group it was, almost every one pledged to take up
employment management as their vocation on graduation--no fear that they
would take it up with a capitalist bias. Then--his friends and I had to
laugh, it was so like him--the afternoon of the morning he arrived, he
was in the thick of a scrap on the campus over a principle he held to
tenaciously--the abolition of the one-year modern-language requirement
for students in his college. To use his own expression, he "went to the
bat on it," and at a faculty meeting that afternoon it carried. He had
been working h