When I was not in the meetings, however, and especially when in my room at night, I was continually trying to fight off a sense of loneliness that seemed to threaten to overwhelm me.  I wanted to be alone, and yet I feared to be.  I was aware, in spite of their congratulations on my efforts, of a growing dislike for my associates; and in the appalling emptiness of the moments when my depression was greatest I was forced to the realization that I had no disinterested friend—­not one—­in whom I could confide.  Nancy had failed me; I had scarcely seen Tom Peters that winter, and it was out of the question to go to him.  For the third time in my life, and in the greatest crisis of all, I was feeling the need of Something, of some sustaining and impelling Power that must be presented humanly, possessing sympathy and understanding and love....  I think I had a glimpse just a pathetic glimpse—­of what the Church might be of human solidarity, comfort and support, of human tolerance, if stripped of the superstition of an ancient science.  My tortures weren’t of the flesh, but of the mind.  My mind was the sheep which had gone astray.  Was there no such thing, could there be no such thing as a human association that might at the same time be a divine organism, a fold and a refuge for the lost and divided minds?  The source of all this trouble was social....

Then toward the end of that last campaign week, madness suddenly came upon me.  I know now how near the breaking point I was, but the immediate cause of my “flying to pieces”—­to use a vivid expression—­was a speech made by Guptill, one of the Citizens Union candidates for alderman, a young man of a radical type not uncommon in these days, though new to my experience:  an educated man in the ultra-radical sense, yet lacking poise and perspective, with a certain brilliance and assurance.  He was a journalist, a correspondent of some Eastern newspapers and periodicals.  In this speech, which was reported to me—­for it did not get into the newspapers—­I was the particular object of his attack.  Men of my kind, and not the Judd Jasons (for whom there was some excuse) were the least dispensable tools of the capitalists, the greatest menace to civilization.  We were absolutely lacking in principle, we were ready at any time to besmirch our profession by legalizing steals; we fouled our nests with dirty fees.  Not all that he said was vituperation, for he knew something of the modern theory of the law that legal radicals had begun to proclaim, and even to teach in some tolerant universities.

The next night, in the middle of a prepared speech I was delivering to a large crowd in Kingdom Hall there had been jeers from a group in a corner at some assertion I made.  Guptill’s accusations had been festering in my mind.  The faces of the people grew blurred as I felt anger boiling, rising within me; suddenly my control gave way, and I launched forth into a denunciation of Greenhalge, Krebs, Guptill