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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
30
"Great
God!
I'd
rather
be
A
pagan
suckled
in
a
creed
outworn:
So
might
I,
standing
on
this
pleasant
lea,
Have
glimpses
that
would
make
me
less
forlorn;
Have
sight
of
Proteus
rising
from
the
sea;
And
hear
old
Triton
blow
his
wreathèd
horn."
When
I
had
finished
I
found
myself
standing
in
my
own
room
with
one
arm
raised,
and,
I
suspect,
a
trace
of
tears
in
my
eyes--there
before
the
agent
and
Harriet.
I
saw
Harriet
lift
one
hand
and
drop
it
hopelessly.
She
thought
I
was
captured
at
last.
I
was
past
saving.
And
as
I
looked
at
the
agent
I
saw
"grim
conquest
glowing
in
his
eye!"
So
I
sat
down
not
a
little
embarrassed
by
my
exhibition--when
I
had
intended
to
be
self-poised.
"You
like
it,
don't
you?"
said
Mr.
Dixon
unctuously.
"I
don't
see,"
I
said
earnestly,
"how
you
can
afford
to
sell
such
things
as
this
so
cheap."
"They
are
cheap,"
he
admitted
regretfully.
I
suppose
he
wished
he
had
tried
me
with
the
half-morocco.
"They
are
priceless,"
I
said,
"absolutely
priceless.
If
you
were
the
only
man
in
the
world
who
had
that
poem,
I
think
I
would
deed
you
my
farm
for
it."
Mr.
Dixon
proceeded,
as
though
it
were
all
settled,
to
get
out
his
black
order
book
and
open
it
briskly
for
business.
He
drew
his
fountain
pen,
capped
it,
and
looked
up
at
me
expectantly.
My
feet
actually
seemed
slipping
into
some
irresistible
whirlpool.
How
well
he
understood
practical
psychology!
I
struggled
within
myself,
fearing
engulfment:
I
was
all
but
lost.
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