“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.