From time to time Norman caught a few words of what Hallowell said—­words that made him respect the intelligence that had uttered them.  But he neither cared nor dared to listen.  He refused to be deflected from his one purpose.  When he was as old as Hallowell, it would be time to think of these matters.  When he had snatched the things he needed, it would be time to take the generous, wide, philosopher view of life.  But not yet.  He was still young; he could—­and he would!—­drink of the sparkling heady life of the senses, typefied now for him in this girl.  How her loveliness flamed in his blood—­flamed as fiercely when he could not see the actual, tangible charms as when they were radiating their fire into his eyes and through his skin!  First he must live that glorious life of youth, of nerves aquiver with ecstasy.  Also, he must shut out the things of the intellect—­must live in brain as well as in body the animal life—­in brain the life of cunning and strategy.  For the intellectual life would make it impossible to pursue such ignoble things.  First, material success and material happiness.  Then, in its own time, this intellectual life to which such men as Hallowell ever beckon, from their heights, such men as Norman, deep in the wallow that seems to them unworthy of them, even as they roll in it.

As soon as there came a convenient pause in Hallowell’s talk, Norman said, “And you devote your whole life to these things?”

Hallowell’s countenance lost its fine glow of enthusiasm.  “I have to make a living.  I do chemical analyses for doctors and druggists.  That takes most of my time.”

“But you can dispatch those things quickly.”

Hallowell shook his head.  “There’s only one way to do things.  My clients trust me.  I can’t shirk.”

Norman smiled.  He admired this simplicity.  But it amused him, too; in a world of shirking and shuffling, not to speak of downright dishonesty, it struck the humorous note of the incongruous.  He said: 

“But if you could give all your time you would get on faster.”

“Yes—­if I had the time—­and the money.  To make the search exhaustive would take money—­five or six thousand a year, at the least.  A great deal more than I shall ever have.”

“Have you tried to interest capitalists?”

Hallowell smiled ironically.  “There is much talk about capitalists and capital opening up things.  But I have yet to learn of an instance of their touching anything until they were absolutely sure of large profits.  Their failed enterprises are not miscarriage of noble purpose but mistaken judgment, judgment blinded by hope and greed.”

“I see that a philosopher can know life without living it,” said Norman.  “But couldn’t you put your scheme in such a way that some capitalist would be led to hope?”

“I’d have to tell them the truth.  Possibly I might discover something with commercial value, but I couldn’t promise.  I don’t think it is likely.”