In a more social environment Bob would
still have found him a mighty pleasant fellow, generous, open-hearted,
and loyal to his personal friends. But just now his methods chafed on
the sensitiveness of Bob's new unrest. Baker was worth probably a couple
of million dollars, and controlled ten times that. He had now a fine
house in Fremont, where he had chosen to live, a pretty wife, two
attractive children and a wide circle of friends. Life was very good to
him.
And yet, in the perversity and the clairvoyance of his mood, Bob thought
to see in Baker's life something of that same emptiness of final
achievement he faced in his own. This was absurd, but the feeling of it
persisted. Thorne, with his miserable eighteen hundred a year, and his
glowing enthusiasm and quick interest seemed to him more worth while.
Why? It was absurd; but this feeling, too, persisted.
Bob was a healthy young fellow, a man of action rather than of
introspection, but now the hereditary twist of his character drove him
to attempt analysis. He arrived at nothing. Both Baker and Thorne seemed
to stand on one ground--each was satisfied, neither felt that lack of
the fulfilling content Bob was so keenly experiencing.
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