w-men of so little worth
to me that I could ignore it? declare that it had no significance for me?
no bearing on my life and conduct? If I were to rise and go forward--and
I now felt something like a continued impulse, in spite of relaxations
and revolts--I must master this knowledge, it must be my guide, form the
basis of my creed. I--who never had had a creed, never felt the need of
one! For lack of one I had been rudely jolted out of the frail shell I
had thought so secure, and stood, as it were, naked and shivering to the
storms, staring at a world that was no function of me, after all. My
problem, indeed, was how to become a function of it....

I resolved upon a course of reading, but it was a question what books to
get. Krebs could have told me, if he had lived. I even thought once of
writing Perry Blackwood to ask him to make a list of the volumes in
Krebs's little library; but I was ashamed to do this.

Dr. Strafford still remained with me. Not many years out of the medical
school, he had inspired me with a liking for him and a respect for his
profession, and when he informed me one day that he could no longer
conscientiously accept the sum I was paying him, I begged him to stay on.
He was a big and wholesome young man, companionable, yet quiet and
unobtrusive, watchful without appearing to be so, with the innate as well
as the cultivated knowledge of psychology characteristic of the best
modern physicians. When I grew better I came to feel that he had given
his whole mind to the study of my case, though he never betrayed it in
his conversation.

"Strafford," I said to him one morning with such an air of unconcern as I
could muster, "I've an idea I'd like to read a little science. Could you
recommend a work on biology?"

I chose biology because I thought he would know something about it.

"Popular biology, Mr. Paret?"

"Well, not too popular," I smiled. "I think it would do me good to use my
mind, to chew on something. Besides, you can help me over the tough
places."

He returned that afternoon with two books.

"I've been rather fortunate in getting these," he said. "One is fairly
elementary. They had it at the library. And the other--" he paused
delicately, "I didn't know whether you might be interested in the latest
speculations on the subject."

"Speculations?" I repeated.

"Well, the philosophy of it." He almost achieved a blush under his tan.
He held out the second book on the philosophy of the