“What’s your opinion, Mr. Ashe?” she said.
“I? As old Sir Roger de Coverley said, ‘There’s much to be said on both sides.’” Jim had no desire to be drawn into argument with Moran.
Her lip curled. “We used to have a Congressman here who was called Mid-channel Charlie because his attitude toward every question was like yours now. He was never Congressman but once.”
“Well, then,” said Jim, perceiving that for some reason she really desired his opinion, “I believe that if you don’t choose and work to get the thing you have chosen, you miss one of life’s finest games. I do agree with Mrs. Stickney that if you drift along and take what comes the chances are that good and ill will run a fairly even race. I agree with Mr. Moran that the man who visualizes his desire and sets it up before him as a lighthouse—and then rows his boat to it with all the strength of his oars—stands at least a moderate chance of getting there. But for me, I do not believe a man should be too set on a desire, that he should steer a course for his lighthouse regardless of everything else. If I have a plan of life it is to row for my lighthouse, but not to miss the scenery along the way. My boat may carry me past something better than my lighthouse. If I should suddenly find myself floating over an oyster-bed I should stop to hunt pearls. I believe that as a man pushes forward to his desire he should stand ready to pounce on the treasure that chance or circumstance floats in his way; he should be ready to repel the evil he fears, but he should keep his ammunition dry and his weapons loaded for trouble he doesn’t in the least foresee—which is not likely to happen, but which sometimes does happen. I believe that a plan to arrive at one’s choice should be modified by the happening of every moment, and that one should be ready to abandon his boat, abandon his lighthouse, to dive over the side after the chance-sent mass of floating ambergris.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s it. The moment determines. The mood of the moment determines,” said Marie.
“And,” said Jim, carried onward by the flow of his thought, “meetings with other voyagers determine. One’s course is sure to cross the courses of others. At some point those moving at right angles to each other may meet bow to bow, when there will result collision, or else one or both the travelers must modify their courses for a time. It may even be that the adventure of one traveler will cause the other to abandon his quest and follow. If you’re going to look ahead, Miss Ducharme, and plan and choose, you must not forget to estimate the chances of contact with other planners and choosers, nor the modifications contact may cause.”
Moran shrugged his shoulders, his jaw set.
“If another man’s path crosses mine, or his boat gets in the way of mine, I let him look out for himself or be run down,” he said, crisply.
“In such collisions,” said the widow, “I’ve knowed both boats to be sunk.”
Jim felt Marie’s black eyes upon him, but he did not look at her. She was studying him, appraising him. He was conscious of it, yet endeavored to appear unconscious. He felt she was more inclined toward friendliness with him than ever before, and because he perceived that she needed friendship—not because of any leaning toward her—he feared to show even by a glance that he was aware of a better understanding between them. It would be so easy to frighten her away.