He exulted with this new thought. "I must be independent. I must be completely free." He began to walk faster, "I won't have anything to do with them, they are all slaves. All of them." He began to trot now, oblivious of the curious states of people watching this unshaven dirty young man, running coatless through the freezing weather. "Must get away. Get back to my room," he thought. He reached his building at a dead run. He raced up the stairs to his own cubicle and slammed the door behind him. He leaned against it, panting for a few minutes. He locked the door, pushed himself away from it and threw himself on the cot in the corner, the only furniture in the room besides the straight backed chair and the rickety table, piled with books from the library. The last traces of daylight faded into the deepening shadows of the tenements before he rose and threw the blanket over his shoulders. The landlord had at last fulfilled his threat, the heat was turned off. The gnawing pain in Devon's stomach returned. He picked up a book to occupy his mind. He snapped on the light; nothing happened. So the landlord had shut off the electricity too. He pulled the chair over to the window and began to read by the street light. He read a book by Mills until his eyes began to hurt, then laid on the cot to mull over what he had read. "Mills said that freedom is a state of mind, not a state of being," he thought, "But he must be wrong, because if a man conforms to the rigors of the masses physically, then he must gear his mind down to the masses also." He fell into a fitfull sleep, swearing at Mills. The next morning the pain in his stomach was worse. Devon retrieved his book and huddled 14 on the cot, trying to keep warm. A film of ice formed in the half glass of water by the window. Sometimes the landlord would come pounding on his door yelling that he would turn on the heat if Devon payed his rent. Devon huddled on the cot and silently damned him. Soon the landlord went away and Devon returned to his thoughts on freedom. "The only way to have complete freedom," he thought to himself, "is to transcend the masses and achieve a state of complete physical and mental freedom." Through the day Devon huddled on his cot and enviously watched the cold sunlight pattern warm dust particles in the air. When tne sun disappeared behind the tenements it would get even colder than before. During this time Devon tried to convince himself that he must transcend the masses and become free. That night Devon laid back on the cot and let his book slip noiselessly to the floor. He awoke with a start. Immediately he sensed that he was someplace else, no longer in the safety of his garret. A stranger was standing above him with a razor, shaving him. "Stop!" Devon tried to twist himself away, but he was powerless. "Stop it! I won't be obligated," he shouted. The stranger paid no heed but finished and went away. Devon tried to get up but couldn't move. It was like a dream. He heard footsteps coming toward him and his mother stood over him for a moment with a tear in her eye, then moved on. More footsteps. Now the stranger was back, with the landlord. "Queer character," said the landlord, looking down at him, "always muttering something about being free." "Yea," said the stranger, "there's a lot like him. Come on, help me put the lid on him, the hearse is waiting." 15