fully to his shelves. Flint stayed him.
"And so you think that it is possible to see life completely in a
mirror."

"By no means," Wurm returned. "We must see it both ways. Nor am I, as
you infer, in any sense like the Lady of Shalott. A great book cannot
be compared to a mirror. There is no genius in a mirror. It merely
reflects the actual, and slightly darkened. A great book shows life
through the medium of an individuality. The actual has been lifted
into truth. Divinity has passed into it through the unobstructed
channel of genius."

Here Flint broke in. "Divinity--genius--the Swiss Alps--_The Battle of
Hexham_--what have they to do with Quill's shack out in Jersey or
Colum's dirty birdhouses? You jump the track, Wurm. When everybody is
heading for the main tent, you keep running to the side-shows."

Quill, the journalist, joined the banter. "You remind me, Wurm--I hate
to say it--of what a sea captain once said to me when I tried to loan
him a book. 'Readin',' he said, 'readin' rots the mind.'"

It was Colum's turn to ask a question. "What do _you_ do, Flint," he
asked, "when you have a holiday?"

"Me? Well, I don't run off to the country as if the city were afire
and my coat-tails smoked. And I don't sentimentalize on the evils of
society. And I don't sit and blink in the dark, and moon around on a
shelf and wear out books. I go outdoors. I walk around and look at
things--shop windows and all that, when the merchants leave their
curtains up. I walk across the bridges and spit off. Then there's the
Bronx and the Battery, with benches where one may make acquaintances.
People are always more communicative when they look out on the water.
The last time I sat there an old fellow told me about himself, his
wife, his victrola and his saloon. I talk to a good many persons,
first and last, or I stand around until they talk to me. So many
persons wear blinders in the city. They don't know how wonderful it
is. Once, on Christmas Eve, I pretended to shop on Fourteenth Street,
just to listen to the crowd on its final round--mother's carpet
sweeper, you understand, or a drum for the heir. A crowd on Christmas
is different--it's gayer--reckless--it's an exalted Saturday night.
Afterwards I heard Midnight Mass at the Russian Cathedral. Then there
are always ferryboats--the band on the boat to Staten Island--God!
What music! Tugs and lights. I would like to know a tug--intimately.
If more people were like tugs we'd have less