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158
Adventures in Contentment
·
David Grayson
89
"I
know,"
he
said,
as
if
reading
my
thought,
"you
think"--and
he
tapped
his
forehead
with
one
finger--"but
I'm
not.
I'm
as
sane
as
you
are."
It
was
a
strange
story
he
told.
It
seems
almost
unbelievable
to
me
as
I
set
it
down
here,
until
I
reflect
how
little
any
one
of
us
knows
of
the
deep
life
within
his
nearest
neighbour--what
stories
there
are,
what
tragedies
enacted
under
a
calm
exterior!
What
a
drama
there
may
be
in
this
commonplace
man
buying
ten
pounds
of
sugar
at
the
grocery
store,
or
this
other
one
driving
his
two
old
horses
in
the
town
road!
We
do
not
know.
And
how
rarely
are
the
men
of
inner
adventure
articulate!
Therefore
I
treasure
the
curious
story
the
tramp
told
me.
I
do
not
question
its
truth.
It
came
as
all
truth
does,
through
a
clouded
and
unclean
medium:
and
any
judgment
of
the
story
itself
must
be
based
upon
a
knowledge
of
the
personal
equation
of
the
Ruin
who
told
it.
"I
am
no
tramp,"
he
said,
"in
reality,
I
am
no
tramp.
I
began
as
well
as
anyone--It
doesn't
matter
now,
only
I
won't
have
any
of
the
sympathy
that
people
give
to
the
man
who
has
seen
better
days.
I
hate
sentiment.
I
hate
it----"
I
cannot
attempt
to
set
down
the
story
in
his
own
words.
It
was
broken
with
exclamations
and
involved
with
wandering
sophistries
and
diatribes
of
self-blame.
His
mind
had
trampled
upon
itself
in
throes
of
introspection
until
it
was
often
difficult
to
say
which
way
the
paths
of
the
narrative
really
led.
He
had
thought
so
much
and
acted
so
little
that
he
travelled
in
a
veritable
bog
of
indecision.
And
yet,
withal,
some
ideas,
by
constant
attrition,
had
acquired
a
really
striking
form.
"I
am
afraid
before
life,"
he
said.
"It
makes
me
dizzy
with
thought."
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