"
Lorne Murchison went out into the companionship of Main
Street, the new check in his fortunes hanging before him.
We may imagine that it hung heavily; we may suppose that
it cut off the view. As Bingham would have said, he was
"up against it" and that, when one is confidently treading
the straight path to accomplishment, is a dazing experience.
He was up against it, yet already he had recoiled far
enough to consider it; already he was adapting his heart,
his nerves, and his future to it. His heart took it
greatly, told him he had not yet force enough for the
business he had aspired to, but gave him a secret assurance.
Another time he would find more strength and show more
cunning; he would not disdain the tools of diplomacy and
desirability, he would dream no more of short cuts in
great political departures. His heart bowed to its sorry
education and took counsel with him, bidding him be of
good courage and push on. He was up against it, but he
would get round it, and there on the other side lay the
same wide prospect, with the Idea shining high. At one
point he faltered, but that was a matter of expediency
rather than of courage. He searched and selected, as he
went along the street, among phrases that would convey
his disaster to Dora Milburn.
Just at that point, the turning to his own office, he
felt it hard luck that Alfred Hesketh should meet and
want a word with him.
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