He had never dreamed that the fund of human knowledge bulked so big.  He was frightened.  How could his brain ever master it all?  Later, he remembered that there were other men, many men, who had mastered it; and he breathed a great oath, passionately, under his breath, swearing that his brain could do what theirs had done.

And so he wandered on, alternating between depression and elation as he stared at the shelves packed with wisdom.  In one miscellaneous section he came upon a “Norrie’s Epitome.”  He turned the pages reverently.  In a way, it spoke a kindred speech.  Both he and it were of the sea.  Then he found a “Bowditch” and books by Lecky and Marshall.  There it was; he would teach himself navigation.  He would quit drinking, work up, and become a captain.  Ruth seemed very near to him in that moment.  As a captain, he could marry her (if she would have him).  And if she wouldn’t, well—­he would live a good life among men, because of Her, and he would quit drinking anyway.  Then he remembered the underwriters and the owners, the two masters a captain must serve, either of which could and would break him and whose interests were diametrically opposed.  He cast his eyes about the room and closed the lids down on a vision of ten thousand books.  No; no more of the sea for him.  There was power in all that wealth of books, and if he would do great things, he must do them on the land.  Besides, captains were not allowed to take their wives to sea with them.

Noon came, and afternoon.  He forgot to eat, and sought on for the books on etiquette; for, in addition to career, his mind was vexed by a simple and very concrete problem:  When you meet a young lady and she asks you to call, how soon can you call? was the way he worded it to himself.  But when he found the right shelf, he sought vainly for the answer.  He was appalled at the vast edifice of etiquette, and lost himself in the mazes of visiting-card conduct between persons in polite society.  He abandoned his search.  He had not found what he wanted, though he had found that it would take all of a man’s time to be polite, and that he would have to live a preliminary life in which to learn how to be polite.

“Did you find what you wanted?” the man at the desk asked him as he was leaving.

“Yes, sir,” he answered.  “You have a fine library here.”

The man nodded.  “We should be glad to see you here often.  Are you a sailor?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered.  “And I’ll come again.”

Now, how did he know that? he asked himself as he went down the stairs.

And for the first block along the street he walked very stiff and straight and awkwardly, until he forgot himself in his thoughts, whereupon his rolling gait gracefully returned to him.

CHAPTER VI