The Weber Literary Journal tired. So he still loafed. But his mind was tired of loafing, so it slipped a couple of cogs and started backward. Mr. Man was remembering. Again he lived over the argument he had with Mrs. Man over the brown sealskin coat. He remembered that time he had been arrested for speeding, and vaguely wondered if he couldn't have "got off" easier if he hadn't tried to bribe the policeman. And there was the time Mr. Wallpole had threatened to "beat the whey out of him" if he didn't stop using the backyard as a garbage dump. Then there was the scene at Sneider's formal dress party when he had snagged his evening suit and so torn it that it was beyond repair. Thus Mr. Man reflected; he remembered the trivial incidents but forgot the momentous. But that was the way with Spring Fever its reflections were always so trivial. After a time, Mr. Man found that reflections, though satisfactory for a time, soon palled and became boresome. Remembering brought him nothing; too, he always remembered the more or less unpleasant incidents. So Mr. Man yawned, stretched, changed his position, and settled down again. His mind, however, chaffed at his passiveness, and began to roam around his brain. Finally it struck the imagination, and Mr. Man began to dream. Dreams, plans, visions began to pile up. Mr. Man saw how he could reduce by taking ten minutes of exercise each morning and night. As a result of the reducing, he again had the figure he had at twenty-five. Then he saw just how to better his business so it would double the profits and increase his income. He built himself a splendid mansion with private baths, a conservatory, and a ballroom on the second floor. A large estate with superb driveways surrounded his magnificent structure. He would possess great wealth, entertain lavishly, and be looked upon as a man of great power and wisdom. His house would be richly furnished, with a walnut suite in each bedroom, tile floors in the bathrooms, marble staircases, and a grand piano. Thus Mr. Man dreamed. He would rise to be an extremely popular man, and would perhaps be sent to Congress. Once there, he would enact such laws and bills that the people would shout his praises. He might become a governor. At this point the telephone interrupted him. Mrs. Man answered it, but the ringing brought Mr. Man from his air castles. He no longer soared with the clouds, but he stayed on earth and planned. He would clean up the basement tomorrow, and rake the lawn, plant flowers, and paint the garage. He planned to rejuvenate his business, bring 24 The Weber Literary Journal about greater efficiency, promote the company's interests with more alacrity. And as he planned his ambitions rose. He would be manager of his department first. He would make good there, then be promoted to the position of secretary to the president; pretty soon the stockholders would make him president and he would have climbed the ladder of success from its lowest rung. Already he could see a large brass plate on his desk shouting to the world in huge black letters, "I. M. A. Man, president." Ah! that would be his aspiration, that would be his goal president of his company; he would be an invaluable man. Then Mrs. Man could realize her social ambitions. Thus Mr. Man stretched at his ease, and aspired to do great things, and to be a great man. His ambition was to climb the ladder of success. But his ambitions were passive. He had Spring Fever. Later, Mr. Man stood on his front porch and looked toward the mountains rising before him. In his bosom something stirred; a sort of pain took possession of him; a strange longing filled his heart; a mysterious chill rippled up his spine. The blood in his veins surged and pounded. The magnetic lure of awakening nature called to him, and the blood of ancestral farmers and woodsmen answered. A dry sob rose in his throat; his heart ached; he longed to roam through the woods and fields, to breathe the perfume of newest grasses, earliest leaves, to hear the lonesome sigh of springtime breezes, to see the blue of the sky bring contrast to the red-brown and gray of the rocks and the darker green-blue of the evergreens. He wanted to flee from the city, from artificial life with its vain superficialities and hide in the heart of nature, to live a natural life, to be a natural man. A great, overpowering sadness seized him; he seemed bound by invisible chains wrought by centuries of growing civilization; he cried to the great out-of-doors to take him home; he fought the chains that bound him; his soul flew away to the plough, to the ax, to the life his blood called for; and the chains about him drew tighter and tighter, choking him, binding him, dragging him back when with all his strength he would flee. Then Mr. Man became a Philosopher. He made him a new philosophy regarding nature and man and life; and with the new philosophy came a bigger, broader understanding. He saw things in a more open-minded vision; he changed his attitude toward man and life. He forgot his petty quarrels, his small dislikes; he felt very altruistic, very meek, very humble. He felt toward life that it was for a purpose, 25