He was bitterly angry with Providence for picking him out of the great crowd of sedentary folk for this sore ordeal.

"Why was I tethered to sich a conscience ?" was his moan.

But there was that stern inquisitor with his pointer exploring his soul.

"You flatter yourself you have done your share," he was saying.

"You will make pretty stories about it to yourself, and some day you may tell your friends, modestly disclaiming any special credit.