The philosopher paused awhile, thinking, observing his perplexing companion. He could not make him out. Presently he returned to his long-standing provisional solution for all problems.
"Well, why don't you come back to the library with me? Tramping around out here is all right for a while, it relaxes you and keeps you in touch with things; but meanwhile, time flies. Shall we go?"
"I think not," the bearded patriarch replied. "The usefulness of books is all but exhausted for me. And even the greatest and fullest truth, set down in a book, I think must be inadequate. It's not an intellectual thing I seek."
The philosopher smiled tolerantly.
"You have found that the physical is deadly," he replied. "And you do not appear to be a man who enjoys emotional drunkenness. What is it you want?"
"Perhaps if I knew, I would have it. I suppose it might be called the spiritual, if there is a word for it. But I know that it is calling me. If you care to come with me, perhaps I can begin to explain."
The philosopher almost laughed outright.
"No thank you," he said. "I do not care to take refuge in any vague mysticism. What I know I want really to know, intelligibly and clearly. I am no dreamer."
"Are they irresponsible dreamers, who are behind these historically unparalleled phenomena? Surely there must be someone there. You have seemed to think so yourself."