"Where have you been sitting?" he asked.
I pointed to the seat. He frowned slightly.
"There?" he asked. "Did you say you were sitting in that seat?
Where did you get on?"
"At Townsend."
"Queer," he answered; he punched the ticket. "Queer. I passed that
seat several times. It was empty!"
Empty! It was almost a shock. Could it be that my isolation was
becoming physical as well as mental? What was this gulf that was
widening between myself and my fellows?
It was the beginning of another phase. I have noticed it many
times; on the street, in public places, everywhere. I thread in
and out among men. Sometimes they see me, sometimes they don't. It
is strange. I feel at times as though I might be vanishing out of
the world!
It was late when I reached my old home; but the lights were still
burning. My favourite dog, Queen, was on the veranda. As I came up
the steps she growled slightly, but on recognition went into a
series of circles about the porch. My father opened the door. I
stepped inside. He touched me on the shoulder, his jaw dropped.
"Harry!" he exclaimed.
Was it as bad as that? How much meaning may be placed in a single
intonation! I was weary to the point of exhaustion. The ride upon
the train had been too much.
My mother came in. For some moments I was busy protesting my
health. But it was useless; it wasn't until I had partaken of a
few of the old nostrums that I could placate her.
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