the
trees, of water rippling over stones, of buds bursting into bloom, of
grass blades pushing through the soil.

Yet, despite this--or perhaps because of it--Allen Drew was conscious
of a vague restlessness. A feeling of discontent haunted him and
robbed the day of beauty. Something was lacking, and he had a sense of
incompleteness that was quite at variance with his usual complacent
outlook on life. He was not given to minute self-analysis, but as this
feeling persisted and bothered him, he began harking back to the events
of the morning in the hope of finding an explanation. Was there
anything he had done that was wrong or anything that he had neglected
to do that came in his province? He cudgeled his brains, but thought
of nothing that should give him uneasiness.

He had corrected that imperfect invoice and sent it on to White &
Tenny. He had reminded his employer that their stock of compasses was
low and should be replenished. He had directed young Winters to answer
that cablegram from Kingston. Try as he would, he could think of no
omission. The books were strictly up to date and everything was moving
in the usual routine.

Ah, there he had it! Routine! That was the key to the enigma. It was
just that unvarying smooth routine, that endless grinding away at the
same familiar things that to-day, when everything about him spoke of
change and growth and freedom, was making him restless and perturbed.
He was just a cog in the ever-turning wheel. He was a slave to his
desk, and not the less a slave because his chains happened to be
invisible.

"It won't do," he murmured to himself. "I've got to have a
change--some excitement--something!"

With the springtime fermenting in his blood and stirring him to
rebellion, he went on, turning out now and then to avoid the trucks
that, with a cheerful disregard for police regulations, backed up on
the sidewalks to receive their loads from the warehouse doors, until he
reached Wall Street. Just beyond was Jones Lane, whose sylvan name
seemed strangely out of place in the whirl and hubbub of that crowded
district. Here he turned, and, picking his way across the muddy
street, went out on the uncovered pier that stretched for five hundred
feet into the river.

The pier was buzzing with activity. Bales and boxes and barrels by the
thousands were scattered about in what seemed to be the wildest
confusion. Gangs of sweating stevedores trundled their heavy burdens