Something like a wave of fresh air seemed to have entered the quiet, warm room. Northrup raised his head. Manly took heed and rambled on; he saw that he was making an impression at last.
“Queer things jog you into consciousness when you detach yourself from your moorings. A mountain-top, a baby’s hold on your finger, when you’re about to hurt it. A sunset, a woman’s face; a moment when you realize your soul! You’re never the same after, Northrup, but you do your job better and your slit in the wall is wider. Man, you need a jog.”
“What jogged you, Manly?”
This was daring. People rarely questioned Manly.
“It was seeing my soul!” Quite simply the answer came.
There was a long, significant silence. Both men had to travel back to the commonplace and they felt their way gingerly.
“Northrup, drop things. It is your friend speaking now. Go where the roar and rumble of what doesn’t concern you haven’t reached. Good-night.”
Northrup got up slowly.
“I wonder if there is such a place?” he muttered.